


and i've never seen forever (but i know we'll remain)

by timelxrd



Series: singlemum!13 AU [2]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, Smut in places, Thirteen x Yaz, high risk of cavities, one shots, singlemum au, soft, thasmin, tw:miscarriage (chapter 11)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2020-10-21 10:17:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 46,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20691866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timelxrd/pseuds/timelxrd
Summary: a one-shot series for my favourite little gay fam!!! you haven't seen the last of them yet!!if anyone has any prompts please don't hesitate to let me know in the comments below!!





	1. new additions

“Dinner’s ready, Wren! Come on in!” Yaz calls from the back door to their home, leaning against the frame while Wren crouches beside the wildflowers they’d planted together months previous, her back to Yaz.

“Coming!” the now seven year old beams, turning back with her hands shoved into the pockets of her hoodie. There’s a glimmer of mischief in her eyes which Yaz puts down to her grass-stained knees. 

“_Wren,_” Yaz chides, folding her arms. She nods her head to the green tone to her jeans, arching a brow. She tries to sound as authoritative as she can, but she can’t help but soften when Wren frowns guiltily. 

“Sorry, Mum.” Wren hangs her head dejectedly, gnawing at her bottom lip. “I promise I didn’t mean to. The grass is really sneaky, you know? I don’t think it likes me.”

“That sounds exactly like something your mummy would say. C’mon, troublemaker,” Yaz teases, following behind the youngster as she pads inside sheepishly. 

Josie is dishing up their food when Wren hops up onto a chair, swinging her legs beneath the table. The young girl drops her gaze to her lap when Yaz pads in, ghosting her hand across Josie’s lower back and whispering a few words in her ear which have her cheeks turning pink. 

“What’s up, honey?” the blonde quips in her daughter’s direction, brows pinching when she suddenly glances up and grins, faux-innocence dancing over her features. 

“Nothing!” Wren replies a little too quickly, pushing her chair closer to the table so she can eagerly dig into her food. 

When Josie glances to Yaz in question, her girlfriend simply shrugs. “... Okay.”

“Can cats eat chicken nuggets?” Wren pipes up halfway through the meal, scooping up a forkful of pees and sending half a dozen scattering to the floor. The rest fall into her lap, where a hungry feline captures and nibbles away at them from its place tucked into her jumper. Wren giggles to disguise a meow. 

“Uh — I’m not sure, honey, but I doubt it can harm them. Why?” Josie’s brows pinch together, a confused frown on her lips. Wren had been acting suspiciously all evening. 

At her side, Yaz simply laughs into her glass of water — trust Wren to bring up such a question. 

“No reason.” The seven year old continues eating, somewhat more heavy-handedly than usual — there’s nothing surprising there, though. 

When Josie collects up their plates, a fork clatters to the floor and Yaz wonders how on earth the house isn’t a bombsite with their collective clumsiness. Perhaps that’s what had motivated them to ask her to move in — _ someone _ has to keep the two children in order.

Yaz’s thoughts are interrupted when Josie ducks beneath the table to fetch the fallen cutlery and suddenly gasps. When she pulls back, hair dishevelled, she regards her daughter in surprise. 

Wren gulps. 

“Wren.”  
  
“Yeah, mummy?”  
  
“There’s a kitten in your lap.” 

“Is — is there? Oh! He must’ve followed me in from the garden!”

“And jumped up into the pocket of your hoodie? And… made a meal for himself?”

“... Yeah?”

Yaz stands to round to Wren’s side, crouching to eye the tiny feline gnawing at the last crumbs left in the little girl’s lap. “Where did you find him, sweetheart?” 

When Wren frowns guiltily, stroking the pads of her fingers behind the kitten’s ears, Yaz’s heart melts. “I found him at the bottom of the garden two weeks ago. I’ve been giving him water and biscuit crumbs after school every day. I’m sorry for not telling you. I was going to, I promise! And he didn’t want to leave me today, so I thought he could come inside.”

“Where has he been staying?” Josie asks, her tone a little less chiding. It’s clear Wren is attached to the tiny animal, and she thinks it might hurt too much to deny her when, really, such a pet wouldn’t be too much of an issue. 

“The summer house in the garden,” she admits, smiling when the kitten nuzzles into her palm with a quiet purr. 

Yaz reaches out tentatively, brushing her hand over the feline’s smooth, ginger fur. “Can I hold him, Wren?”

Reluctantly, Wren hands the docile kitten over. Yaz checks through its fur for any signs of tics or flees and, once satisfied that he’s perfectly healthy, she treats the small animal to a few gentle pets. The seven year old squeaks in delight when he purrs. 

Josie raises a brow in silent communication with her girlfriend, who offers up a shrug of her shoulders. 

“Can we keep him?” Wren uses her best puppy eyes — it’s apparent they’ve already worked on Yaz, who allows the kitten to rest against her chest while she coos quietly into its fur.

“Can we?” Yaz adds, her smile broad and full of affection. 

“You’ve made this impossible for me.” Josie scrunches her nose, aiming a playful glare in Yaz’s direction. “But I _ suppose_, as long as there’s no one out looking for him, we could — _ perhaps _— take him in.”

“Thank you, mummy!” Wren cries gleefully, jogging over to her mother and springing into her arms.

Jostled, Josie hefts her up. “Oof— you’re getting a little too big for this, buddy.” After a quick squeeze, she sets her back down. “Now, what are we going to name the little guy?”

“I’ve already named him!” Wren reveals, bouncing on her toes in pure excitement. When both women turn to her curiously, she beams. “He’s called Ginger.” 

“Hello, Ginger,” Josie whispers when Yaz offers him up, scooping the sleepy feline into her arms and watching on as he blinks slowly, lazily up at her. “Welcome to the family.”

They’re lounging in the living room sometime later when there’s a rustling from beside the sofa. The new addition to the family drags pages of stapled paper towards their feet, leaving Yaz to hastily sweep down to save the organised file before tiny teeth and claws scar its surface. 

“What’s th—” she starts, then falters, taking in a shaky inhale. “Josie,” she turns, eyeing her girlfriend. “Why do you have adoption forms in your bag?”

Previously distracted by the television, Josie turns at the sound of her name. She catches sight of the forms and freezes, gnawing into her bottom lip before it splits into a bashful smile. “Surprise?” 

Yaz blinks at her girlfriend in absolute cluelessness before she reads the first few lines of the document, green eyes catching on Wren’s name. “Is this — are you — _ no way.” _

Wren leans over when she hears the disturbance to her side, frowning when she spots tears dancing in Yaz’s pupils. Instantly, she slips from the couch and rounds to Yaz’s side. “What’s wrong, mum?” 

Yaz simply motions towards the papers held in her trembling hands, trying and failing desperately not to give in to the shock and elation throwing her thoughts into overdrive.

Wren’s advanced reading level allows her to easily decipher the title of the forms. She smiles up at her, hopeful and warm, once she realises they’re happy tears in Yaz’s eyes. Silently, she reaches for a pen from the coffee table, then turns back. 

“I know you’re my mum already, and you always will be,” she falters, reaching out to catch a tear tumbling down Yaz’s cheek. “But — well — basically — will you adopt me?”

With a shuddering sob, Yaz draws the young blonde — who is turning more and more into the bubbly, ditsy woman she calls her girlfriend each passing day — into a desperate hug. “Yes — _ yes. _One thousand times yes.”

More and more these days, Yaz finds herself pinching her skin between her fingertips in the hope that this isn’t some kind of dream, because, bloody hell, if so, it’s the best one she’s had yet.


	2. take my hand (take my whole life too)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> soft

“Mummy! If this is your last shift, does it mean we get free slushies?” Wren pipes up from the other side of the counter Josie occupies, leaning on her tiptoes to toy with a box of spare tokens. “Mum said I could have one.”

“Tell your mum she’s too soft on you, Wren.” Josie eyes her girlfriend from across the room with a playful smirk, then slips over to the machine in question with a plastic cup. “Which flavour, babe?”

“Both,” Wren quips, self-assured and smirking. She’s eight, now, bordering more and more between the lines of high self-esteem and cockiness with every passing day.

Josie pauses before she presses the button, glancing over her shoulder in mild disapproval. “What’s the magic word?”

“_ Please,” _Wren adds quickly, folding her arms on the counter so she can lean over to watch blue and red-tinged ice swirl and churn. 

“Perfect.” When she adds an extra portion to the drink, Wren squeaks in delight. “I’ll be finished up in —” she glances at her watch, offering up a relieved smile. “ — five minutes, okay?” 

Wren beams, taking a noisy slurp of the icy liquid. She turns to eye her mother at the other side of the room, smiling mischieviously when she finds her chatting to Ryan. “Mummy, she’s not looking. Shall I do the thing now?” 

Nervousness springs back to life in the pit of Josie’s stomach when she glances up, then towards the machine in the corner labelled ‘out of order’. She reaches beneath the counter to fetch a small, cuddly tiger with a heart cradled in its arms, handing it over hastily. She slips the key to the machine into her small hands, too. “You better be quick, okay? Don’t let her see what you’re doing.”

While the eight year old winds between carousels and car-racing games towards the ‘faulty’ apparatus in the corner, Josie hops onto the counter and swings her legs over to slip down the other side. The movement draws Yaz’s attention her way. She shoots her an affectionate smile as she approaches.

“Could you _ please _ keep the eye-sex to a minimum, guys?” Josie hears Ryan huff, earning flushed cheeks and scoffs of laughter from both parties. 

“You can talk. I saw the way you were chatting to our new colleague this morning, Ryan,” Josie teases, ambling up to her girlfriend’s side and slinging an arm over her shoulders. 

“I was just getting to know her!” Ryan interjects, though both women can spot the sudden pink hint to his cheeks. 

“What’s eye-sex, Uncle Ryan?” Wren quips suddenly from Ryan’s side, taking a sip from her drink. Her eyebrows rise in innocent curiosity. “Sounds like a place name. Isn’t grandma from eye-sex, mummy?”

Ryan presses a hand against his chest while he chokes on air. Yaz quickly pats his back, stifling laughter. 

“That’s — that’s Essex, babe,” Josie answers briskly while Ryan averts his gaze. 

“Oh! Then what’s eye—"

“Well, would you look at the time!” Yaz gasps suddenly, taking a glance at the clock on the wall which boasts four o’clock in the afternoon. “You’re all done, Josie.” 

Josie pops her brows, ducking her head to read her name badge for the last time. _ Josie Smith, happy to help. _Her eyes are a little cloudy when she looks up, encouraging her daughter to curl her arms around her leg and squeeze.

Yaz reaches out to rub a hand over her girlfriend’s shoulder, taking in her expression and responding in kind. 

Ryan, meanwhile, rolls his shoulders and rocks on his toes, hiding how crestfallen he is at losing such a long-term colleague. “You better come and visit from time to time, even when you’re making millions from selling paintings to galleries and that.”

He lets out a soft ‘oof’ when Wren springs up to hug him. He catches her, melting under her firm hug. “We won’t forget about you, uncle Ryan. We’ll be here every week, I promise.” 

“Every week? Thanks, buddy,” Ryan smiles, lips curving widely, brimming with affection only reserved for the petite eight year old in his arms. 

When he sets her down, she slips the key she’d used earlier into his palm and presses a finger to her lips.

“I think this calls for one last competition, babe, just like the first one,” Josie proposes, smugness twitching her lips into a smirk. 

“Really? You want to let Wren see your butt get kicked _ again?” _Yaz counters, reaching out to tousle Wren’s blonde locks. “That’s brave.”

“I _ let _ you win!” Josie barks back, already leading her girlfriend towards the basketball machine. She’d been practising recently in preparation, so when she inserts a company token and picks up a basketball, competitiveness blooms in hazel-green eyes. 

“If you’ve had extra practice with this, I think I deserve an extra pair of hands,” Yaz argues when Josie absolutely _ smashes _ her previous score, smirking and smug and boasting when she steps back. She ushers Wren forward, who eagerly picks up a basketball. 

“Give it your best shot,” Josie stands back, folding her arms. 

Together, they beat Josie’s new record effortlessly. Yaz cries out in delight, hefting Wren onto her back for the next round. 

“I’m on the school’s netball team, mummy.” Wren reminds her mother when Josie gawps in her direction. 

“That’s _ cheating!” _

Yaz simply laughs.

Each machine is tackled in the same order as four years prior, and by the time they finish, they’re still at a draw. 

“Okay, one more game. We’ll make this easy — whoever wins this is the ultimate champion, hands down.” Josie leads the way towards her chosen machine, stripping away the ‘out of order’ sign and earning a quizzical look from her girlfriend. 

Her hands are trembling slightly and she’d been getting quieter and more reserved with each contest. 

“Easy for you, you mean,” Yaz teases, but she steps up to the grabber-machine anyway, baring a thoughtful frown. One, single fluffy toy lays on its front in the middle of the multicoloured surface — a small tiger, clutching what looks like a heart. 

“_ Shut up. _Wait — there’s only one toy in here. I swear I stocked it up earlier,” she states in faux-innocence which Yaz buys into right away. 

“Guess it makes it a little more straightforward, huh?” Yaz chuckles, nudging her playfully aside in favour of reaching for the pointer stick. She flashes a beaming smile over her shoulder. “I could do this blind.”

Josie stands back, unknowingly holding her breath while Yaz begins directing the contraption into place. 

She slips a hand into her pocket when the mechanical hand lowers, feeling for the ring she’d been hiding and fumbling with and thinking about for weeks. 

Behind them, Ryan takes out his phone, thumb hovering over the red circle set to record. 

Wren slurps noisily at the last dregs of her slushie, gaze flicking between her two mothers. 

Josie takes a steadying breath into her lungs, pulse thrumming visibly in her neck. 

The grabber misses. 

Josie exhales, wetting her lips and swallowing heavily through a dry mouth. 

“I almost had it! One more try,” Yaz cries in frustration, oblivious to the events she’s being unknowingly led towards. She moves the engineered metal back into position, then lowers it into the perfect placement to grasp the fluffy toy. “Ha! Told ya. Totally smashed it, babe.”

When Yaz turns, the toy grasped in her hands and a shit-eating grin on her lips, she notices the nervous twitch to her girlfriend’s lips and the way Wren keeps rocking on her toes giddily. 

“You — you might want to read what it says, Yaz,” Josie implores, radiating the kind of jumpy energy of a student sitting an exam after one too many coffees. 

With an amused scoff, Yaz turns the toy around and reads over the words etched into a bright red, plush heart. 

Out of her eye-line, Josie sinks to one knee. 

Ryan presses record. 

Wren squees. 

Yaz falters, breathing a gasp into optimistic auras. 

She re-reads the words lacing rouge velvet. 

_ Will you marry me? _

Josie swallows, thick and heavy, as Yaz turns to regard her in open shock.

A ring, glistening and silver and full of promises, slips from her pocket and is raised in anticipation, in question, in hope. “So, what do you say?”

Choked up, giddy, breathing heavily, Yaz nods. “Yes — yes, one thousand times yes.”

“Oh my _ god _,” Josie murmurs, sweeping the other woman into her arms and silencing her glee into her shoulder.

Claps ring out around them from customers and staff alike, a chorus of giggles melting like slow snowdrops from Wren’s lips. 

When Josie closes the distance between their lips, Yaz is at first smiling too wide to reciprocate, laughter bubbling to the surface. She melts against her in no time, though, slipping her fingers into blonde locks to respond in kind.

The sight swiftly too much to bear, Wren turns on the spot to shoot a playful grimace towards the nearest customer. “I do not know these women.”


	3. this love it grows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gets a lil smutty at the end! enjoy!

“Babe, you’re — you’re breathing on my face and — god, garlic bread was _ not _ a good idea last night,” Yaz huffs, reaching out to blindly nudge at Josie’s side. 

The blonde grumbles and shifts, flopping onto her other side with a sigh through her nose. She curls up, sweeping an arm around her pillow and dozing off within seconds.

Yaz swears her wife could fall asleep on demand if asked. Twisting in the sheets, she settles on her back, fighting the wave of nausea she’d been awoken by an hour earlier. She smooths her hand over her stomach, hoping to ease the pull it has on the muscles at the back of her throat. Wetting her lips, she swallows against the sensation. 

“Josie?” she whispers five minutes later when her stomach shows no sign of relenting. She sits up, taking a round of steadying breaths while her insides churn. “Babe, I don’t feel well.”

“Hm?” Josie hums on the verge of consciousness. When the bed shifts and Yaz scampers into the adjoining bathroom, she rouses with a jerk. “Yaz?”

Yaz heaves over the bowl with a groan, emptying the contents of her stomach in aggressive, forceful waves. 

Josie slips, (_ literally slips) _ into the bathroom in concern, drawing natural curls from slim shoulders and rubbing her free hand in slow circles against her back. “Hey, hey. Just let it all out.” As the sickness continues, she sighs empathetically. “Oh, _ honey.” _

When the queasiness to her stomach eases, Yaz sinks back into her wife’s hold with a defeated groan, letting her dab a tissue under her nose and the corner of her lips. She closes her eyes, resting her head against Josie’s shoulder in open exhaustion.

“How are you feeling, babe?” Josie murmurs a minute or so later, carding the fingers of her free hand through her hair while she continues to caress her lower back with the other. “Must be some kind of bug going around at work.”

“Mm, might be,” Yaz hums, though she doesn’t sound very sure. Glancing down, she takes in the tiny swell of her tummy with a curious eye and tentative assumptions. 

“Hey, at least you can’t complain about garlic breath now, — ” Josie teases gently, pressing a kiss to her hairline. “ — when you reak of sick.” 

“_ Josie!” _ Yaz huffs, giving her wife’s knee a playful nudge. The laughter which greets her is enough to cure whatever is twisting uncomfortably at her gut.

* * *

“Mum, is everything okay?” Wren hops down the last three steps in one go, spotting her usually sprightly mother settled on the couch with a blanket and picking at a slice of toast. 

“Just an iffy stomach, sweetheart,” Yaz shrugs in dismissal, setting the food aside to take a sip of water. 

At the kitchen counter, Josie observes her wife in quiet concern — something her nine year old daughter doesn’t fail to notice. She stirs her coffee idly, though it’s already growing cold. 

Wren helps herself to a bowl of cereal and heads over to sit at Yaz’s side. “Can’t I stay home with you today? We could make a blanket fort and watch a film like we did when mam was all sneezy?” 

Yaz melts at her side, reaching out to brush her daughter’s fringe aside and press a kiss to the skin there. She earns a scrunched nose for her affections. “Your mother’s doing some work from home for the day, so I'll be well looked after, love.” She meets Josie’s gaze in silent communication, heaving a gentle sigh. 

When Wren nods dejectedly, taking another mouthful of cereal, Josie pads over with folded arms. “Missy’s not giving you any more hassle at school, is she, Rowan?”

The nine year old flinches at the name, straining two hearts in unison. She shakes her head, though, earnest, but unintendedly reminded of the last few months of teasing and nicknames. “No, she’s not, but —” she pauses, suddenly not feeling very hungry at all. “ — it still makes me a bit nervous.” 

“Oh, _ Wren,” _Yaz sighs softly, waiting until her daughter sets her bowl aside before she draws her in for a hug. “That’s okay, we totally understand. Did I ever tell you about Izzy Flint?”

* * *

When Josie disappears to walk Wren to school, Yaz slips into the bathroom with a small box, reading and re-reading the instructions on the leaflet inside before taking the test, then another, then another, then three more. 

Upon finding each one displaying the same result, Yaz catches sight of herself in the mirror through clouded vision. She peels back the hem of her pyjama top and studies the mostly-flat expanse of her stomach, finding a hint of roundedness to its shape. 

She cries at the unexpected but much-desired revelation, even when delight gives way to the now-familiar lurch of her stomach muscles. She sinks to the floor beside the toilet and clings to the edges as she heaves through an empty stomach. 

* * *

Josie returns to the sound of fruitless retches and coughs, calling out for her wife while she jogs up the stairs and into the bathroom. 

What she witnesses when she steps inside is not what she’d expected. Yaz is smiling despite the sickness ridding her body of anything and everything, slumping back from the toilet to direct it towards her wife. 

“You look like a madwoman,” Josie teases, sinking to the floor before her to mop up her face like the doting mother she already is. 

“I think I might be going a bit mad, yeah,” Yaz responds distractedly, simply earning a fond roll of Josie’s eyes. She reaches out for her wife’s hand once she’s all cleaned up, drawing it closer to rest against her stomach. She meets her green hues with a gleeful expression, imploring her to read her mind _ just this once. _

“You’re… hungry? That’s great! I’ll go and fix us up some brunch! Don’t you love that word? ‘Brunch’!” 

And before Yaz can back-track and stop her, Josie jogs out of the room and down the stairs. She turns, glancing in the mirror just to roll her eyes at Josie’s retreating form. 

When the sickness eases to nothing, Yaz pads into the kitchen. On the calendar, she marks the days since her last period in large red x’s. 

Josie thinks she’s making a countdown until Christmas, then proceeds to doodle small Santa’s onto every crossed off day. 

At lunchtime, Yaz reaches for a roll of bread, popping it on a tray in the oven. Ten minutes later, she points in its direction. “Babe, what’s in there?”

“There’s —” Josie pauses, scrutinising, then draws it out for inspection. “There’s a bun in the oven.”

Yaz glances up from where she’s sitting at the couch, settling a hand over her stomach and caressing in slow circles. “Yeah, there is.”

Josie looks utterly clueless, nose scrunching. “... strange.” And because she has the attention span of a three year old, she goes on to simply make their lunch. 

Yaz heaves an amused sigh. She really is going to have to spell it out for her, isn’t she? 

There’s a pregnancy test mixed in with Josie’s paintbrushes when she retreats to the conservatory-turned-workshop later in the day. She’s so invested in her piece that it doesn’t even register when she picks the white and blue stick, reaching out to dip it in a dark orange mixture and bring it up to the canvas. 

A minute of silence passes where Josie eyes the unfamiliar paintbrush in her hand, setting it aside without a second thought. 

From the doorway behind her, Yaz watches on with a dumbfounded expression. 

_ Was Josie this ditsy when she married her? _

* * *

“Mum?” Wren calls out when she’s returned home from school, rucksack falling to the floor at her feet as she jogs through to the living room. 

Yaz is curled up on the couch with a book — _ Raising Children for Dummies, _to be exact. She tears her eyes away from the page to greet her daughter with a warm smile, patting the spot beside her. “Hey, sweetheart. How was school?”

Wren sinks into the spot beside her and turns, her full attention on Yaz. “It was good! Actually, I talked to Miss Oswald about your ill tummy this morning and she told me something.”

Josie shrugs off her jacket and heads for the kettle to make up two cups of tea, as per. She leans against the counter to listen in, eyeing the sudden flush to Yaz’s cheeks. “What did she say, babe?”

“Mum, are you — uh, I forgot the word,” Wren falters, nibbling at a loose nail. Yaz regards the action chidingly, raising a brow until her daughter peels her hand away. “Pregnant! Mum, are you pregnant?”

Josie chuckles softly, plucking another white stick from the fruit bowl to set aside — she keeps finding them _ everywhere _today. Perhaps they’re a part of one of Wren’s puzzle games. 

Yaz hesitates, then, glancing between her attentive daughter and her oblivious wife. “Seems so, buddy.” 

Wren squeals at the same time as her mother chokes on air, green eyes wide and lips parted in a perfect ‘o’. 

“Are you _ serious?” _Josie pads over to sink to her knees in front of her wife, reaching out to touch a hand to Yaz’s stomach. “Babe? Really?”

“Yes, you absolute dumbo,” Yaz scoffs, but there are tears in her eyes now. When the love of your life looks at you as though you put the stars in the sky, it’s hard not to well up. 

“_ Dumbo? _ What was that for?” Josie pouts, brows pinching. She continues to caress her stomach nonetheless, because her wife is _ pregnant _ and they’re _ going to have a baby. _

“Josie, I planted ten pregnancy tests around the house and made enough euphemisms today to last a lifetime, and you didn’t catch on once,” Yaz implores through watery laughter. Wren catches on, clutching at her sides as giggles wrack her small form.

“You — oh. Oh, you mean —” Josie pulls back, crossing to the fruit bowl and picking up the white stick she finds stashed beside it. She observes the little blue line with a gasp. “Oh my God, I’m so dumb. Yaz, I’m sorry.” When she meets her gaze again, there’s a delicate pink hue to her cheeks and unadulterated love in her eyes.

“We’re having a baby, Josie.” Yaz’s features ache with how bright and big her smile shines, but it falters when she really thinks about what this means for her, for Josie, for her perfect little family. “Oh, God, we’re having a baby, Josie.”

When Josie sidles back to her, all comforting touches and warm, proud smiles, she chortles softly. “You’re going to be amazing, Yaz. Brilliant, even.”

Wren shifts, curling an arm protectively around Yaz’s stomach and resting her head against the slight roundedness there. “I’m going to be a big sister, mum.”

Yaz reaches down, a single tear tumbling down her cheek, and slips her fingers through Wren’s hair in gentle, affectionate touches. “And they’re going to be so lucky to have you, sweetheart.”

* * *

Later that night, encouraged by soft sighs and breathless moans, Josie presses gentle kisses up Yaz’s thighs to her hips, then up to her stomach rather than where she needs it most.

Yaz can’t complain, though, when her wife whispers promises and affections against the skin there, lost to the tiny form nestled beneath. “I know I haven’t met you yet, but I love you so much, little one. I can’t wait until you’re here.” She presses a kiss just below her navel, biting back a watery smile.

“Josie,” Yaz whispers, reaching out to draw the other woman up for a gentle kiss. They’re both gooey-eyed and beaming when they pull back, and when Josie slips a hand between them to sink into welcoming heat, Yaz never wants to let this moment end. “I love you,” she hums, the sound canting off into a whine when her wife’s touch lightens teasingly.

Swallowing Yaz’s sounds with another, firmer kiss, Josie circles her bundle of nerves until she’s twitching and squirming before venturing further. “I love you too,” she hums the words like a prayer. “I always will.”


	4. to build a home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a very short one but i had to get this out of my system and i missed writing for these two!!! enjoy!!

“Yasmin Khan-Smith, put that down,” Josie chides from the doorway to the nursery — or, well, _ almost _nursery, save for the disassembled cot, which Yaz sets down with a guilty expression. “You’re meant to be taking it easy, babe.” 

“But they’ll be here soon and their room isn’t finished,” Yaz argues, hands on her hips. 

Josie rolls her eyes fondly, reaching out to rest a hand against Yaz’s swollen stomach. She’s seven months pregnant now, and she’s _ glowing. _“You can help, but I’m not risking you or the baby getting hurt just because you’re being stubborn.” 

“I’m not stubborn!” Yaz argues, but it’s pointless. She folds her arms, realises she can’t quite get comfortable in that position, then huffs in frustration. “I just feel _ useless _.” 

“Yaz —“ Josie starts, but when she turns to meet watery eyes and a trembling bottom lip, her heart shatters. 

“I can’t do _ anything _ and I’m always _ tired _ and you’re constantly on your feet and doing things for me, Josie, not to mention helping Wren with school work and — ” Yaz sniffs, wiping at her dampened cheeks. Her hormones have been plaguing her ever since the six-month mark, leaving her crying over the smallest of things, then giddy, then insatiable. “I’m useless.”

It’s a rollercoaster, but Josie’s still clipped in for the ride. 

“Oh, _ Yaz,” _Josie sighs, closing the distance between them to curl her arms around her shoulders and draw her into a hug. 

Yaz buries her face into Josie’s shoulder, where she muffles her frustrated cries. 

By the time she quietens to stubborn sniffs and gradually calming breaths, Josie pulls back enough to cup her cheek, wiping away a stray tear. “You’re not useless at all, please understand that. You’re _ literally _ growing a child inside you right now — that takes a hell of a lot more effort than making dinner and building a cot, babe.” 

Yaz nods silently, leaning into the curve of her palm, and Josie redirects her gaze to her stomach, where she settles her free hand. Drawing slow circles with her thumb, Yaz melts against her. 

“Hey, you,” Josie whispers to her rounded belly, tilting her head. “I love you and all, but could you ease off on your mum for me?” 

Yaz giggles, reaching up to card Josie’s blonde locks between her fingers. When a sudden pressure in her gut leaves a strange sensation to reverberate from her belly button, she gasps. 

“Yaz?” Josie glances up at the sound of her wife’s shaky inhale, brows pinching in concern. “Something wrong?” 

“I think — wait, move your hand to the left.” Yaz guides her movement anyway, spanning Josie’s fingers over her stomach. 

“Wh— _ oh.” _Josie’s eyes widen and an unfiltered gasp sweeps past her lips, because, just beneath her palm, she feels the motion of a tiny, growing limb. 

“They’re kicking,” Yaz all but whispers, pupils glistening with fresh tears — but at least they’re gleefully encouraged this time. “Oh my God, they’re _ kicking.” _

“Hi there, buddy,” Josie beams, refusing to draw her hand away until the kicks ease off into light taps, then dissipate entirely. “I think they were telling me to get this cot put together, Yaz.”

“They sound bossy already,” Yaz responds, smoothing her palm in slow circles. 

“They’re definitely yours, then,” Josie teases, taking a step back when Yaz glares. 

“That crib’s not going to build itself,” Yaz chides, “I’d suggest you get to work.” 

“Charming,” Josie mutters playfully, but she pads over to the dismantled deep blue wood nonetheless, scattering each piece out and tucking the nails and bolts into the back pocket of her paint-stained jeans. 

“_I’m_ _growing a baby inside me, _Josie. That takes a lot of effort,” Yaz repeats her words from earlier with a shit-eating grin, drawing over a chair to settle into before she reaches out a hand. “Instructions please — we both know how bad you are at multitasking.”

Josie gawps, then smirks filthily. “You never complain about that when we’re fu—”

“Mummy? Can I play outside?” Wren’s breathless voice filters in through the doorway, where she bounces on her toes, bicycle helmet in hand. “Rose is at the door and she says she wants to share a secret with me. I know what it is already because Jonny told me he _ like- _likes her, and apparently he kissed her cheek the other day and —” 

“Yes, Wren, but not for long, okay? I’ll be making dinner soon,” Josie interrupts, because otherwise they’d be there for hours and she’s already heard enough to get her heart-rate going. As soon as Wren slips from the doorway and jogs along the corridor, footsteps echoing down the stairs, she takes a steadying inhale. “She’s already at the _ like-liking _stage?”

Yaz reaches out, resting a comforting hand on Josie’s shoulder. “Bold of you to assume she’ll stop talking for long enough, love.” 

Josie snorts with laughter, and Yaz soon follows. It fills the newly painted and decorated room with a hint at what’s to come — laughter and love and long-lasting humour. 

Three papercuts, a bruised thumb from a misplaced hammer and a stubbed toe later, Josie steps back to admire the completed crib in its full glory. A set of arms loop around her waist and a kiss melts against her neck. 

“It’s perfect, Josie,” Yaz hums over her shoulder, because it’s true. Wren’s old cot serves its purpose once more. “You’re the best.”

“Mum! Mummy! Guess what!” Wren storms up the stairs, cycling helmet still strapped to her head over long blonde locks which curl at the ends into soft, glossy spirals. 

Both women turn in intrigue. “What’s up, Wren?” Yaz quips, tilting her head. 

“Jack kissed me!” And then she’s skipping into her room, humming a cheery song to herself. 

Beside her, Josie grips onto the side of the crib. “I think I’m going to faint.”


	5. i've been waiting for you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> enjoy!!!

“You’re  _ sure _ you don’t want me to stay here with you? I can call up,  _ right now _ , and postpone it to some other day,” Josie frets, burning holes in the carpet with how much she’s pacing. There’s a file tucked under her arm — a portfolio of her works, and an important meeting on her agenda. 

“Josie, relax, I’ll be fine. This baby is too stubborn to make an appearance just yet. Plus, mum’s stopping by, so if anything  _ does _ happen, she’ll be here.” Yaz sits up with a soft grunt, feeling heavier and heavier by the minute. There’s a book resting on her swollen stomach, which she bookmarks while her wife fusses. “Babe, this meeting could have a massive impact on the rest of your career, you can’t miss this opportunity,” she implores, reaching out a hand to catch Josie’s wrist the next time she paces past. 

Instantly, Josie crouches to her level beside the couch, leaning her cheek into the palm Yaz offers. “If anything happens, I’ll call you right away, okay?”

“You promise?” Josie moulds her hand against the swell of her stomach, thumb moving in slow circles which make Yaz relax with a sigh. 

“Promise. Now go and get your dream job, babe,” Yaz beams, lifting her chin so she can press a kiss to the corner of her lips. But when Josie sighs, reluctant to leave her side, she suddenly understands her state of mind. Her tone is firm, as though she’s chiding a child in her class. “You’re not her, Josie. You’d never intentionally leave me in a situation like that. You and I both know that.” 

“I could cancel — I could just stay here,” Josie urges, worrying her bottom lip to keep it from curling downwards. 

“Josie _ , _ ” Yaz implores with a fond laugh, nudging playfully at her shoulder. “I’ll be fine.” 

With a dejected huff, Josie moves to straighten up, but Yaz catches her wrist again. 

“I love this suit on you,” Yaz beams, catching sight of the flush to her wife’s cheeks in an instant. Leaning up, she plants a kiss against her lips. “I’d hire you just for that.” 

“Oh,  _ really?”  _ Josie’s nose scrunches with the laughter falling between them. “That’s just plain  _ objectifying _ now, babe.” She softens, however, when Yaz sits back, curling a protective arm around her swollen stomach. “You’re glowing.”

Yaz blinks up at her like a pleased feline, pearly whites on show when she smiles. “Shut up, you soppy git.” 

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay?” Josie reaches for her bag, double-checking she has everything she needs before she slips her knee-length blue coat on. 

“Good luck, babe.”

“Laters!” Josie quips from the front door, breathing a laugh when Yaz grumbles. “Yeah, never saying that again — bye!”

* * *

There’s a knock at the front door around lunchtime, signalling her mother’s arrival. Yaz drags herself up from the couch with a grunt to pad over, unlocking and swinging open the door. 

Najia raises her brows and beams as she takes her in, stepping through the door to press a kiss to her cheek. “You look ready to pop, love. How are you feeling?”

“Ta,” Yaz grumbles, resting a hand on her lower back to support the weight of a whole other person inside her. “I’m  _ exhausted _ .” 

“C’mon, sit yourself down,” Najia leads the way through to the living room, ushering her daughter onto the couch at the first opportunity. “I’ve brought some food to have for lunch — apparently spicy foods can induce labour, so I’ve got some leftover curry.” 

Yaz perches down, smoothing her palm over her bump when a swift kick encourages a twinge in her stomach muscles. “You do know that’s not scientifically proven, right?” 

“Worth a try, though.” Najia shrugs, slipping the container of food into the microwave and switching the kettle on. She fills up a glass of water when Yaz shakes her head at the offer of tea, handing it over with an empathetic smile. “Have you had any signs yet?”

Yaz shifts to get more comfortable, but she can’t seem to find the right position. “They’ve definitely been more active in the last few days, so we’re just counting down the hours now.” She aims the words at the swell of her stomach, which, with each passing minute, presses more and more uncomfortably against her bladder. She takes a sip of water and sits back with a fatigued sigh. 

“Have you tried having sex?” Najia quips, unfiltered. 

Yaz chokes on her water, offering up a blooming flush and a flummoxed gasp. “Pardon?”

“Oh, don’t be like  _ that.  _ Apparently it helps,” Najia rolls her eyes as though she hadn’t just asked the most mortifying question a mother can put before their daughter. “It worked for your father and I when I was expecting y—” 

“Mum, please stop,” Yaz pleads, grimacing at the mere thought of her parents doing  _ that.  _

“Honestly, it’s a natural process, Yaz. I don’t know what you’re — oh! Curry’s done.” 

Yaz breathes a sigh of relief. Saved by the microwave. 

The minute she takes her first forkful of the delicious meal, though, a cramp in her gut renders her breathless. When she sits back to massage the affected area, though, her thighs suddenly feel a whole lot warmer, the sensation spreading towards her toes. “Mum, did you spill someth— oh.  _ Oh.”  _

“What was that, honey?” Najia quips from the kitchen, where she washes up despite Yaz’s protests. She turns, drying a mug between her hands. 

“Uh —  _ ow —  _ mum?” Yaz feels panic rise in her chest when another cramp hits. She calmly sets her plate down on the coffee table if only so she can curl both hands into the fabric of her purple sofa, breaths quickening. “I think my waters just broke.” 

Najia’s swallow is audible as she takes in the sight. She’s quick on her feet, though, offering up an excited yet nervous smile. “Told you the curry would work.” 

“Mum, now is  _ not _ the —  _ ah —  _ time,” Yaz counters through gritted teeth, nodding towards the phone sitting on the coffee table. “Can you text Josie for me? She’s in a meeting.”

“I’ll grab your coat and shoes, too. Just focus on your breathing for now, okay?” Najia reassures her, typing out a message with her index finger in a fashion so slow Yaz almost wishes she hadn’t asked in the first place. 

_ Hey! It’s Najia here. Yaz has just gone into labour so we’re going to head for Western Park H — will update you. See you there? x _

She counts each inhale and exhale in the exercises she’s been practising for months now, calming her breaths to the occasional sharp gasp with each twinge and cramp. 

“Do you reckon you can make it to the car, love?” Najia offers a hand, letting Yaz ride out the next wave before she slowly lifts herself to her feet, leaning heavily into her mother’s side. Her pocket chimes with a new message and she quickly checks it over. “Josie’s on her way. She’ll meet us there.”

“I told her you wouldn’t be on your way yet, buddy,” Yaz sighs down at her swollen stomach, trying to keep Josie’s likely heartbroken expression from her thoughts as she tentatively heads for the door.

The contractions only increase in pain and frequency once they’re in the car on the way to the hospital. Yaz bites down on her bottom lip to keep a groan at bay, creases gracing the corners of her eyes in a now permanent wince. 

“We’ll be there soon, okay? Hang in there, love,” Najia reaches out to squeeze her knee, her other hand occupied with driving them along roads which are thankfully sparse of cars. 

Yaz grips at the handle of the door, curling her toes in her plimsols and shuddering with the next contraction. 

“How far apart are your contractions, Yaz?” her midwife asks as soon as Yaz has settled in a room on the maternity ward. Her voice is gentle and encouraging, her smile bright as usual. Her name label reads  _ Grace O’Brien  _ but Yaz is already well-acquainted with her from the last few months of regular check-ups — she was delighted to learn of her connection with the head of Littlewood Primary during her first appointment, and  _ god _ can the woman gossip. 

She paces as she works to ease the pain through her limbs, casting anxious glances at the door every few seconds to check for any sign of her wife. “Uh — about ten minutes?” 

“You’ve still got a little way to go, then, love,” a soothing hand settles against her back when Yaz leans against the bed, fisting her hands into the sheets. “Is the missus on her way?”

“She should be here any minute,” Yaz murmurs hopefully, resting her hand over her stomach when a kick leaves her crying out. 

Najia picks up her phone when it starts buzzing, standing to answer instantly. “It’s your father, Yaz. I’m just going to step outside for a second, okay?”

Yaz can only nod, a faint sheen of sweat coating her brow which is mopped and dabbed with a cool flannel by the dark-skinned woman at her side. “Josie, please be here soon.”

Another five minutes pass before Josie barges through the doors like a madwoman, out of breath and flushed as though she’d just dropped from a height. “Yaz! Oh my god, I’m so sorry.  _ Everything  _ was against me today.” 

Yaz sags with relief, hand held out in a silent plea for an anchor; something to cling to; something to squeeze while her contractions become more frequent and powerful. “You’re here —  _ ow, ow,  _ ** _ow _ ** _ —  _ now, and that’s all that matters.” 

Najia pats Josie’s shoulder as she all but skids over, taking Yaz’s hand into both of her own to squeeze and pepper with apologetic kisses through misty vision. 

“Josie, you’re crying,” Yaz whispers when she notices the residue clinging to her top lip, and despite the waves of pain and the desperate need to  _ push,  _ her main concern is still the flustered blonde at her bedside. 

“I thought — christ, I thought I wasn’t going to make it in time,” Josie admits, wincing when Yaz’s grip tightens. “You’re brilliant — you’re doing so well, Yaz.” 

She understands Josie’s anxiety immediately, offering up an empathetic little smile. “We’re going to have a baby, Josie,” she whispers after the next agonising wave of pain washes ashore, voice hoarse, excited, terrified. 

“We are, yeah,” Josie beams, pressing her lips to the back of Yaz’s hand in an open-mouthed kiss.

“I’m scared,” Yaz reveals when, after a quick inspection, Grace lets her know she can begin pushing against the pressure on her pelvis. 

“That’s absolutely natural, love, but you’re  _ magnificent.  _ You’ve got this.” Josie lifts a hand to rub gentle circles into her back when Yaz leans up, driving her heels into raised panels on the next surge of agony. “And I’ll be here the whole time. Now  _ push,  _ Yaz.”

With a heaving inhale and a brave smile, Yaz pushes with the following contraction, her groan guttural and pained. 

Josie can’t feel her hand by the fifth attempt, but she can’t bring herself to care. 

By the tenth, Grace informs them that she’s almost there; just a few more goes. Josie ups her encouragements tenfold to her breathless, agony-ridden wife. 

On the thirteenth push, determination and utter brilliance give way to high-pitched, wailing cries and the birth of their youngest child. 

“It’s a boy!” Grace announces over the distressed sobs of a newborn witnessing light and sound and cool air in an overwhelming series of continuous firsts, curling a pale grey blanket around its squirming form after briefly wiping him clean. 

Josie breathes a soft, relieved sigh against Yaz’s temple, pressing a flurry of kisses against her reddened, salt-sheened face while a nurse checks over their newborn’s vitals. “You’re amazing. That was  _ amazing,  _ Yaz. You did so well.” 

When the bundled up infant is settled ever-so-gently into Yaz’s waiting arms, the dark-haired woman parts her lips on a shuddering, exhausted sob, cloudy brown pools taking in the slow slope of his button nose, his tiny chin and even smaller ears. He’s small — smaller than Yaz had expected, minuscule fingers and nails curled around his warm blanket. “Oh my God.”

“He’s beautiful, Yaz,” Najia whispers from her opposite side, cheeks damp with fresh tears. Hakim had joined them ten minutes earlier, and words die on his tongue the minute he spots the new addition to his family. “Just like his mother.”

“He’s got my nose,” Yaz whispers hoarsely to her wife, who wordlessly brushes the pads of her fingertips over his furrowed eyebrows. 

“He’s got your eyebrows, too,” Josie giggles through a wave of emotion, earning a glare from her wife. 

“Seriously? Babe, I just pushed him with sheer force out of my vagina and you’re going to  _ insult _ me as soon as you can?” Yaz huffs playfully, pressing an affectionate kiss to the crease at the bridge of her son’s nose. At her side, Josie’s nose scrunches in a similar way at Yaz’s choice of words. “Did you hear that, buddy? She’s always this mean — you’ve got that to look forward to,” Yaz drawls to the close-eyed infant in her arms, watching as his tiny hands flex and clench. 

Around the room, laughs echo. 

“Do you want to hold him?” Yaz queries her wife five minutes later, once she’s memorised the infant’s features time and time again, each tiny freckle and perfect imperfection. There’s a dusting of dark hair along his hairline, and she doesn’t think she’s felt something so soft. 

“God, yes,” Josie nods instantly, eyes brightening in the fashion usually reserved for their daughter. “I’d love to.”

So with a slight wince, the almost weightless, swaddled form moulds into Josie’s arms. She cries as she takes him in anew, murmuring sweet nothings as she observes his pursing and parting tanned lips. “I can’t believe you’re ours. You’re too perfect.”

Thirty minutes pass with only affectionate words and tender caresses as the newest member of the family meets and steals the heart of each person in the room. 

“Would you like us to pick Wren up from school and bring her here to meet him?” Najia asks when she next glances at the clock, aware she’ll be finishing up in the next hour. 

“If you’re sure that it’s not too much trouble?” Yaz counters with a smitten little smile, smoothing her hand up and down her son’s back while she nurses him. She’s a natural, and he’s a quick learner, it seems. 

“‘Course not. We’ll be back in no time, love.” Najia brushes a lock of hair from Yaz’s eyes and presses a kiss to her forehead. “You did amazingly today.” 

Yaz almost wells up again, tired eyes glossy when she offers her mother a proud little smile. “Learnt from the best.”

Less than an hour later, the newly-appointed eldest child in the household skips through the doors and climbs without hesitation onto the bed at Yaz’s side, leaning in to finally meet her little brother. 

“Wren! Be careful, your mother’s been through a lot today,” Josie chides gently, standing from her chair to set a half-empty cup of coffee aside and brace herself for Wren’s eagerness. Yaz simply laughs, the sound a little croaky. 

“He’s  _ tiny,” _ Wren whispers to Yaz, lifting a hand as if to touch him before it retreats back to her side. “He looks too small to touch. I won’t hurt him, will I?” 

“Not if you’re very gentle, sweetheart,” Yaz murmurs gently, reaching out to take her daughter’s hand into her own and guide it, lightly, to the smooth skin of her son’s cheek. “Just like that.”

“Just like this,” Wren repeats when Yaz draws her own hand away, trusting her to be tentative with him. “Hi, I’m Wren — like the bird. I’m your big sister,” she whispers affectionately, fingertips brushing his nose and earning her a tiny shift of newly exposed features. “But my favourite bird is a robin — maybe you can take that name.”

In unison, Josie and Yaz breathe a gasp, then meet each other’s gaze over Wren’s chattering form in a look which screams  _ are you thinking what I’m thinking?.  _

“Guess that’s that sorted, then,” Josie laughs, perching on the opposite side of the bed so she can drop a kiss to her son’s sleep-doused features. “Welcome to the family, Robin.” 


	6. under your influence (don't let me go) (M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SMUT WARNING
> 
> you have @spoilersweetie and @yasminkhxns to thank for this : )

“Any questions before we finish for the day?” Yaz chimes into the bustling lecture theatre, head tilted in question. When all she gets is dismissive shakes of her students’ heads and polite smiles her shoulders roll in an easy shrug. “Great. See you all at the same time next week! Oh, and don’t forget — the deadline is next Monday and the word count is two thousand, but I’m allowing ten per cent either way for leverage.”

A wave of sighs resonate from the large group made up predominantly by young adults, and Yaz takes both entertainment and concern from the handful who seemingly had no idea deadlines existed, wide eyes and worried lines gracing their features. 

“If I was one of your students, I don’t think I’d ever miss a lecture,” a familiar voice croons from the doorway five minutes later, while the last of her students filter outside with curious looks.

Yaz doesn’t have to turn around to decipher the source as her wife, so when strong arms curl around her waist from behind, she sinks into her hold with a laugh which echoes in the now empty room. “That’s biased, babe.”

Josie’s laughter greets her own, arms shifting to settle on her sides and gently turn her around. When green settles on deep brown, her lips break out into her usual infectious smile. “Hey.”

“Hello,” Yaz leans in, brushing a kiss to the corner of Josie’s lips and earning a pout from her wife, who had clearly been expecting something more. “C’mon, Josie, there’s still students outside.”

“I put a sign up on the back of the door,” Josie hums, leaning in to press a kiss to the curve of Yaz’s jaw. “For the foreseeable future,” she continues, dotting a kiss to the space below her ear — a sweet spot she’s mapped out many times before, yet it still manages to feel like the first. “This room—” she purrs, moving to her pulse, “ — is under maintenance.” 

“Josie, you can’t just —” Yaz goes to complain, but then Josie smirks against her skin, biting down lightly, and her knees almost give way. “You make me sound like a faulty dishwasher.” 

“The only faulty thing about you, Yaz, —” Josie chortles, toying at the buttons of her star-dusted blouse, “— is the fact you’re not sat on that lovely spacious desk —” she slips a hand beneath, fingers spanning her stomach, which is lightly toned even after giving birth only six months prior, “ — with me between your legs.”

“_ Josie,” _ Yaz sighs, because they hadn’t had time to themselves since the birth of their youngest, and what little time they _ did _ have alone was overshadowed by the exhaustion an infant doused upon them. She can’t remember the last time they’d had sex, and that, in itself, is enough to leave her eager to replenish their encounters — but, nonetheless — “Babe, I could get fired for this. What if someone walks in?”

“I’ll pretend you spilt something and I’m helping you… rub it off.” The choice of words encourages a childish snort from the blonde, who continues the path of her hand towards her chest, slipping beneath the fabric there and meeting her gaze in challenge. “Yaz, please. I couldn’t focus today because I kept on thinking about you. It’s been so long.” 

Yaz doesn’t make a move to stop her, despite her anxieties. She sighs, leaning heavily against her when artists fingers circle a dusky bud. “You’re not making this easy for me.”

Josie smirks, leaning in to capture her lips and swallow a moan when she captures her nipple between her fingers and squeezes. In seconds, she has her back up against her desk, pinning her there with her hips. 

“Wait, Josie, _ wait,” _Yas whispers breathlessly a minute later, her shirt flayed open and Josie’s lips urgent against her own. She gently nudges her shoulder, earning a soft pout from her wife. “At least lock the door first.”

“On the desk, then, quick as you like,” Josie quips as she struts towards the door, a sway to her hips which makes Yaz swallow heavily. The door clicks locked at the same time as Yaz lifts herself onto the flat surface, leaning back on her elbows, anticipation ringing through her nerves right down to her toes. 

“You’re so hot like this,” Yaz purrs when Josie returns, nudging her knees apart to settle comfortably between them and span her palms over her thighs while she leans in to kiss her. Yaz stops her millimetres from her destination with a finger to her lips, which smudges the light coating of red lipstick over her cheek. “You’re wearing lipstick.”

“Wanted to make my mark,” Josie mumbles against her finger, which she takes past her lips with a hum. “So let me.”

The noise which climbs up Yaz’s throat is, frankly, the filthiest sound to leave her lips, and Josie’s eyes darken tenfold. 

It’s not even a minute later that Josie unzips the fly of Yaz’s slacks and peels them over slim thighs, wetting her lips at the thought of finally delving into the sweetest of delicacies. 

Yaz catches the angle of her jaw, dragging her back into a hungry kiss which pulls all the air from her lungs in a matter of seconds. She threads her fingers into her hair and gives a faint tug, drawing her ever closer. When bold fingers flit in ghosting pressure against her through her underwear, a gasp melts into her wife’s mouth and her hips shuck and press forward. She hadn’t realised how much she needed this. “Oh my _ God.” _

“Hate to say I told you so,” Josie breathes against her, peeling her blouse back from her shoulders and following the movement with her rouge-painted lips. She nudges her nose along her jaw to her neck, then ducks down to mouth at her collarbone. In the meantime, two fingers press and caress at the bundle of nerves between her legs, moving in slow, lazy circles which wind her up like a coiled spring. Josie notes the dampness there with a smug little huff of air against pinkening skin. “You’re so ready for me, Yaz.” 

Yaz simply whimpers, leaning back on trembling arms while her chest heaves and her hips squirm. “Always, Josie.” Because it’s true — they’re like horny teenagers. One heated look from Josie is enough to have Yaz breathless. 

Warmth surges to Josie’s core at the knowledge and she hums against her skin, lust drowning her pupils until even green fades to deep, dark black. “God, I need you. Can I? Please?”

Yaz nods, desperate, needy, squirming beneath her gaze. She takes the incentive, raising her hips in open invitation for Josie to drag her ruined underwear down her thighs. 

“Do you want my mouth, Yaz?” Josie purrs, swallowing thickly at the smell of arousal which follows the baring of her flesh. “Do you want me to fuck you with my tongue?”

“_ God,” _ Yaz groans, because Josie’s staring at her as though she has liquid gold between her legs and she’s looking to trade. “Just, please, do _ something _ before I burn up.”

“It would be my pleasure,” her wife hums, leaning in to peck her lips before she sinks down and latches immediately onto slick heat. Her tongue flicks over her clit in rapid motions, mouth closing in on her as though she’s the first meal she’s had in months of famine. 

Overhead, the lights switch off and Yaz gasps in surprise. They’re equipped with motion-sensors, but apparently, two writhing forms aren’t enough to trigger them back into action. She’s not about to slip from the table and leap around while there’s a beautiful woman between her legs, though, so she settles back and gives in to the amped-up sensual experience of unseen lips and tongue. 

“God, you’re so good,” Yaz cries a minute or so later when Josie sinks a finger past her core in a fashion she knows she likes, crooking it once she’s knuckle-deep and brushing the pads of her fingertips over trembling, soaked walls. “That’s — _ ah _— that’s just right.”

Josie shivers against her, her praising, wavering words sending stoked flames to a full-blown inferno at the pit of her stomach. Her hips twitch into empty space, thighs pressing together, her movements faltering enough for her wife to smugly catch on. 

“Keep going, please keep going,” Yaz repeats the words like a prayer, curling the fingers of one hand into Josie’s hair as she slumps back against her desk, stomach muscles jumping. She tugs her hair hard enough for Josie to gasp against her, the motion vibrating against Yaz’s clit and almost making her fall apart then and there.

“Are you enjoying this, Yaz?” Josie purrs between languid licks at her clit, breathless. She pumps her finger inside her until she can tell she’s accommodating of another. “Do you like the risk?” Another lick, tongue curling in a fashion which should be considered illegal. “Does it turn you on?”

When all she receives in return is a string of whimpers and moans, Josie can tell her wife is verging on the edge. She ups her efforts, foregoing the ache between her own legs to send Yaz hurtling towards her climax. 

Josie’s hair is gripped tightly in her fingers and her free hand shoots to the edge of the desk when she comes, hard, her thighs clenched around her head, earrings digging into the dark skin there. A muted cry of Josie’s name falls past her lips as she trembles and writhes through her orgasm, coaxed by a talented tongue and fingers. 

The lights flicker back on, bathing them in light. 

“Babe?” Josie whispers an unknown length of time later, the fluttering pressure of underwear being drawn back up her legs along with her navy trousers dragging her from the lure of post-orgasmic bliss. 

She thinks she hears a shuffling from the corridor outside the door and a flurry of laughter from closer by. 

“Babe, I think the cleaners want to come in.” 

  
  



	7. mama said that it was okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SOFT
> 
> thank u for the prompt @jolivira !!!!! <33333

“Wren, can you _ please _ stay still for me? Just for five minutes?” Yaz pleads from her place behind Wren, who swings her legs and fusses with the pieces of a jigsaw at the breakfast bar. When the nine year old finally settles as stilly as possible, she cards a brush through her long blonde locks and separates it into three, then begins plaiting. 

“Hey, honey,” Josie hums as she pads towards her son, perched in his bouncer and beaming in his sleepy state, bare feet wriggling. “Someone’s happy today.” She settles cross-legged in front of him, reaching out to dislodge his foot from his mouth when he brings it up to his chest. “You’ll eat _ anything, _won’t you? Just like your mum.”

“I heard that,” Yaz chides from behind her, and when Josie laughs, Robin squeals in delight. 

“Almost ready to go, Yaz?” Josie quips, entranced by Robin’s deep brown eyes and familiar smile. He’s grown a tuft of dark curls atop his head, which Josie ghosts her fingers through to ease him back into a hazy trance. “I’ve got Robin’s bag and enough nappies to fend off a tsunami.”

“Almost … done! All good, Wren. You can fidget to your heart’s content now.” Yaz steps back just in time to let Wren hop from her stool, skidding to the mirror to check out her hairstyle. 

“Thanks, mum. You’re way better than mam at this,” Wren teases.

Behind her, Josie huffs, drawing Robin to her chest and dropping a kiss to the top of his head. “Who’s the better cook, though?”

“Sorry, mum,” Wren replies, directing it to Yaz, nose scrunching. “Mam’s better.”

“Guess we’re even, then. Shall we get going?” Yaz turns, trying and failing not to swoon when she takes in her wife whispering sweetly to their son. “Sorry, babe, but you’re going to have to put him down while we’re in the car.” 

“If I _ must _,” Josie huffs in the same nature as their nine year old, reluctantly settling Robin into his carrier seat and accepting the long blue coat her wife offers up on the way to the door. 

“Can I sit in the front, mum? Robin drools on me every time I sit in the back with him,” Wren asks once they’ve ambled out to their weathered jeep, at which Yaz laughs. 

“Course you can, just make sure you buckle in, okay?” Josie slips into the driver’s seat once Robin has been safely secured into the back. “Besides, he only drools on you because he loves you.” 

“Jack doesn’t drool on me and he says he loves me,” Wren quips, mischief dancing in her pupils. 

Josie is lucky she isn’t on the road yet because she would’ve definitely crashed with that information. “Sweetie, you’re nine. Please don’t tell me he’s your boyfriend already.” 

Yaz grimaces through the back mirror, allowing her son to mouth and gnaw his teething away through her hand. 

When Wren doesn’t respond, misting up the window at her side and drawing a smiley face over its surface, Josie turns to regard her. “Wren?”

“You just told me not to tell you!”

* * *

While Yaz takes Robin in for a regular check-up at their local hospital, Josie flicks through her work emails, a pair of thick-rimmed glasses settled over her eyes. 

At her side, Wren scribbles away at her sketchbook, humming confidently to herself. Hearts litter the page, the letters ‘W + J’ written in curling calligraphy inside each one. 

She’s doing it on purpose, Josie knows, but she’s not going to give in. 

By the time Josie goes to expand on their earlier disagreement, she’s stopped in her tracks by the soft whimpers and huffs of an infant just a few seats away. She doesn’t register the quiet sniffles at her side as crying until she meets the tanned young woman’s features. Instinct cries out like the infant cradled in her arms. 

Wren’s humming filters to a stop as she peers over curiously. 

“Is everything alright, sweetheart?” Josie queries tentatively, brows pinched in motherly concern. 

The woman in her late teens nods, but her lips fail to lift in the polite smile she tries her hardest to convey. “Mm-hm.”

Wren, ever the confident one, slips from her seat anyway, padding over to simply plop herself down next to her. She reaches out but hovers her hand in mid-air before the mother nods, to gently caress the pads of her fingers over the tiny infant’s forehead. “She looks like my baby brother. Is she okay?”

Stunned, but softening, the girl smiles through tears. “She has a fever, so she’s a bit poorly, but she’s getting better.”

“She’s very pretty,” Wren observes, admiring the olive tone to her skin. “I had a fever once. Mum stayed at home and we watched films all day and she let me eat loads of chocolate,” Wren starts, and when she begins on a story, she doesn’t stop. Josie offers up an apologetic look when the young woman listens in bemusedly. “What’s her name?”

“Sofia,” she replies, wiping her cheeks free of moisture with a final sniff. “What’s yours?”

“Wren, like the bird,” the nine year old hums, giggling when the infant yawns and fists a small hand into her blanket. 

“You sure you’re okay?” Josie murmurs a few moments later when the woman’s phone chimes with a text and her face falls upon reading it. 

“I’m seventeen, I have a baby, and my boyfriend just broke up with me,” the girl admits, voice catching on the last few words. At her side, Wren’s empathetic frown matches her mother’s. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Josie shuffles up, palm rubbing soothingly against her shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not fair,” she muffles against Sofia’s forehead, pressing a kiss there. “I’m scared I won’t be enough for her.”

Wren studies her features and her words curiously, then, confidently, she straightens up, leaning in to murmur to the baby. “One mum is more than enough, Sofia. Having two parents is just a bonus.”

Josie’s intake of breath is audible, unmatched to the soft, teary little laugh the young woman gives. “You’ve raised her well.”

“Oh, believe me, I had no part in her wisdom,” Josie chuckles, admiring her daughter with a proud, albeit watery smile. “Honestly, it’s hard to believe she’s mine sometimes.”

“I know how you feel,” the girl notes, gaze falling back towards the infant in her arms. 

“You love her, right?” Josie quips, gaze flitting between the two of them. When the girl nods without hesitation, she continues. “And you’d do anything for her?” Another assured nod. “Then you’re all she needs, love.” 

“It’s —” she starts, then meets bright green eyes and melts. “It can’t be that easy, surely?” 

“It’s not easy, no, but it’s worth it. You’ll be fine, I’m sure of it,” Josie notes, her smile emanating warmth and security. She feels strangely maternal over the young dark-haired woman. “I mean — you’re here, aren’t you? Getting her checked over?” 

When the young woman nods, Josie notices her eyes have brightened. “Yeah, s’pose so. I was worried about her.”

“You’re doing amazing, love. And she’s gorgeous.” Josie shrugs as though the conclusion is obvious. “Now, stop doubting yourself and focus on how brilliant watching her grow up will be.” 

“Thank you,” she murmurs quietly a few minutes later when she’s stopped crying happy tears into her daughter’s temple. “I’m Isabella, by the way.”

“Josie,” the blonde returns, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder. When Yaz reappears with their dozing son resting against her chest, she softens tenfold, standing up to press a kiss to the corner of her lips. “And this is Yaz, my wife, and our son, Robin.”

Instead of curious questions and inquiring looks, the girl simply offers up a brimming smile. “Nice to meet you. And thank you, again. I didn’t realise how much I needed to be told that.”

“Don’t thank me. I’m glad to have helped. Come along, Wren,” Josie simply grins when her wife regards her in question, looping an arm around her waist and dropping a kiss to the top of Robin’s head. Wren skips over to pad along at her side. “Have a brilliant day, Isabella.” 

“You too,” Isabella murmurs shyly, watching them turn to leave with a wistful smile. 

“Making friends again, babe? Honestly, I think I’m going to have to start keeping you on a leash,” Yaz teases, voice echoing down the corridor. 

“Yaz, _ please, _not in front of the kids,” Josie pleads, earning a round of unfiltered laughter. 

“I think we’ll be fine, Sofia,” the young woman murmurs to her daughter, lips unwavering in their grin. “We’ve got each other.”


	8. she keeps me warm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thank you @yasminkhxns for the prompt!!!! this one's a bit short and there's a touch of smut at the end : ))

“Are you _ sure _ you’re going to be warm enough?” Yaz frets, straightening out her wife’s rainbow-striped scarf in an excuse to draw her in for a gentle kiss which Josie greets with a hum, leaning in for more. 

When Yaz pulls back, it’s with a smouldering look. “Save that for later, babe. Now — you didn’t answer my question.”

“Should be fine. We’ll only be there for a couple of hours anyway,” Josie whines playfully, but Yaz knows it’ll only be a matter of minutes before her wife’s nose turns pink and she starts going blue at the lips. 

Yaz shakes her head in open disbelief. “Stay here, I’m going to fetch you something.”

“Yaz! I said I’ll be fine!” Josie huffs at her wife’s retreating form, but beside her, nestled in multiple layers of green and blue and perched ready in his pram, Robin giggles. “Don’t _ you _ start, buddy.”

While Yaz is upstairs, she raps her knuckles against her daughter’s bedroom door, then peers inside. “Ready to go, sweetheart?”

Wren hastily swipes a half-wrapped box from her desk into her drawer, then leans against it casually, polka-dot scarf curled around her neck and a fluffy green beret tucked over her long blonde locks. “Yep.”

“What’ve you got there?” Yaz tilts her head, lips curling upwards. 

“It’s for Christmas. Can’t tell you,” she retorts, skipping over to the door and wrestling her mother from her room when Yaz makes an attempt to head over. “Mum! It’s a _ surprise _!”

“Fine!” Yaz laughs, backing out to head for her own room. “Go on downstairs, babe, your mam’s waiting for you.” 

By the time Wren has reached the bottom of the stairs, Josie has Robin tucked into a papoose against her chest and she’s chattering away in response to his babbles. “Oh! _ Love _the hat, Wren. Very French. Robin likes it too.”

“Robin can’t speak, mam,” Wren responds, leaning up to fix her brother’s Christmas pudding hat. 

“I speak baby,” Josie shrugs, deadpan, and before Wren has a chance to inform her that _ actually, _ that’s not possible, Yaz pads in with a soft _ aw. _

“Are you _ trying _ to kill me?” Yaz croons, earning a dopey, flushed grin from her wife when she reaches out to stroke her hand up and down Robin’s flailing arms. His gloved hands curl into the material holding him against his mother’s chest. 

“Just thought we could keep each other warm,” Josie hums, dropping a kiss to the top of his clothed head. “Ready?” 

“One more thing, babe,” Yaz quips, slipping a thick black and yellow bobble hat over Josie’s head and securing it in place just above her brows. “Perfect. Consider it an early Christmas present.”

“_ Yaz _.” Josie softens, cheeks a rosy hue. “You shouldn’t have. I love it, though. Very comfy. A solid thirteen out of ten.”

It’s Yaz’s turn to blush, now, so she hides her face in her thick curls and distracts herself by fixing her wife’s coat around her shoulders and fetching the stroller — it’s only a matter of time before Robin drops off to sleep, as usual, so they come prepared. “Everyone ready to go?” 

Two affirming hums and a goofy babble of noises later, the small family venture out from the warm confines of a well-kept home and into the low light of an early December evening. Wren uses warmth as an excuse to slip her gloved hand into Yaz’s, ambling alongside the stroller and admiring each festively decorated house they pass. 

It’s only a ten-minute walk to the town centre, where Josie’s stall outshines the rest in the swarm of the Christmas market, fairy lights clinging to every nook and cranny. 

Josie looks perfectly at home, but a total nervous wreck at the same time. 

“Babe,” Yaz whispers when the first customer inspects the handmade Christmas tree decorations and painted canvases displayed before her and her wife freezes, gnawing at her bottom lip in a telltale fashion. When Josie doesn’t react to her voice right away, Yaz touches a hand to her hip. “Josie.”

“Huh? Mm?” Josie blinks, turning at the grounding hand pressed against her side. Even through thick layers, her touch resonates right to her bones and makes her melt without her consent. She opts to act casual despite the nerves turning her stomach. “Sup?”

“Everyone’s going to love your art, babe. Just relax, okay? Look, I think even Robin is working his magic.” Yaz motions to the infant kicking his legs against Josie’s stomach, still attached to her chest. The elderly couple admiring the display turn to eye the baby with doting smiles. 

“It’s all this little one’s handiwork,” Josie murmurs to them, voice wavering with shy nerves. She catches one of Robin’s booted feet before it sends a collection of ornaments over — a group of elves with decidedly questionable fashion sense. 

She breathes a sigh of relief when they laugh heartedly, and within a minute, Josie makes her first sale of the evening.

“See? Not too hard, huh?” Yaz remarks proudly, giving her wife’s shoulder a squeeze. 

“Not too hard,” Josie repeats, her accompanying smile enough to light up their little hut by its own right. “Hey, why don’t you take Wren to the carousels and grab a hot chocolate? I think I’ll be able to manage here.” 

Yaz turns to the ten-year-old picking at a packet of custard creams Josie manages to _ constantly _ have access to, lifting a brow. “Not too old for some funfair rides, Wren?”

“Funfair rides? Never.” Wren perks up, slipping from her perch to unlatch and escape from the chalet with Yaz in tow. She’s never sounded more like her mother. 

“You’ve got this, babe,” Yaz murmurs, brushing a kiss to Josie’s cheek on the way out. 

By the time Wren has effectively worn herself out on the carousel and other various Christmas-themed rides, Yaz fetches them much-needed hot chocolate. 

A disposable cup of mulled wine settles on the counter beside Josie upon their return, and Josie sips the dark liquid as though it was made by Gods. “Sometimes I think you know me _ too _ well, Yaz.” 

“I’m your wife — it’s practically in the job description,” Yaz drawls back, sipping steadily from her hot beverage. 

They’re gazing and smiling and giggling at each other like lovesick teenagers — much to Wren’s displeasure — when a familiar voice draws them back to the present. 

“Evening, ladies,” Graham chimes, rubbing his hands together to cast the numbing cold from his bones which has inadvertently sent Josie’s nose pink, as usual. “Long time no see, eh?”

Yaz steps forward with a muffled hum of greeting, drawing her steaming drink away from her lips. “Graham! How are you doing?” 

“Good as always,” Graham grins, adjusting the West Ham scarf hugging his neck. “Blimey, haven’t you two settled! Who’s this little fella?” 

“Mr O’Brian, meet the newest member of the family, Robin. Robin, this is Mr O’Brian, your mum’s old boss,” Josie informs the oblivious infant who simply offers a lopsided smile in response, feet kicking once more. “Think that counts as a hello, mate.”

“Hello, little guy,” Graham croons, reaching out to tickle at one of Robin’s bouncing feet. “And _ please, _Josie, just call me Graham. Now, where’s the other troublemaker got to?”

“I’m right here, uncle Graham!” Wren pipes up, padding forward to lean her elbows on the counter and send him her usual cheeky grin. “You’re still wearing the same scarf as when I went to nursery. Are you a time-traveller?”

“This is my favourite scarf, Wren,” Graham chides, faux-hurt painting his features when Wren quips a quick _ I don’t like it _ which leaves both mothers giggling. 

Forgiving, Graham’s gaze lingers on a set of hand-painted canvases with silhouettes of reindeer and sleighs and everything in between. When he goes to pay for the purchase, Josie politely denies his money. “It’s Christmas. And you're basically family. I’m not letting you pay for those.” 

She waves any attempt he makes off until Graham gives in, not before he makes a compromise. “In that case —” He lifts a couple of notes, handing them to a torn-looking Wren. “— get yourself enough sweets to make you feel sick, buddy.”

“_ Graham,” _ Yaz chides, but the middle-aged man is too stubborn to refuse. 

“Thank you, uncle Graham,” Wren quips when her mothers seem to give in, slipping from the chalet to swing her arms around his middle in a hug. “I already know what I’m going to use it for.”

“What’s that, kiddo?” Graham quips when she pulls back, brows arched, his smile easy. 

“Be right back!” Wren cries self-assuredly before she disappears three doors down to the sweet stall. All three adults watch on in curiosity as she fills a paper bag to the hilt, then accepts a tray of hot chocolates. With surprising grace, she ambles towards the stall next to it, dispersing a hot chocolate to each worker before returning for more. The process continues until each stall-worker on their row is gifted a handful of confectionary and a cup of hot chocolate. 

Wordlessly, Yaz curls an arm around Josie’s waist, drawing her to her side when she looks like she might cry with pride. “God, I love her.”

“You know, when Grace helped Wren into this world all those years ago, I think a part of her stayed with her,” Graham sighs wistfully, clearing his throat. When Wren returns with barely a handful of sweets in her bag, he crouches slightly to lift the beaming blonde into his arms. “Thanks for making my evening, Wren.” 

When they return to the house later that evening, hot chocolate and mulled wine still warming them from the inside out, they disperse to bed with shared sweet, fatigued goodnights. 

Josie is lounging back and rubbing at sore feet when Yaz returns from settling Robin down, but she smiles when she notices her presence. “What an evening, huh?”

Yaz clambers onto the bed with a breezy sigh, replacing Josie’s hand with her own before moving up to caress her strong ankles and shins. Her wife’s sleep shirt and underwear combo allow her to slip her cold hands higher, eliciting a pleased sigh and a shiver, goosebumps rising. “You can say that again.”

“Your hands are cold,” Josie whines faintly, scrunching her nose in displeasure. 

But when a curious palm slips further and familiar lips find her own, any more complains die on her lips.

“I thought putting them to good use might warm them up,” Yaz replies coyly, and then, quite suddenly, there are two cold fingers pressed directly against her core and a thumb ghosting over Josie's clit. “Mind indulging me?”


	9. you know i'll adore you 'til eternity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> merry christmas! (i know its boxing day shush don't spoil my fun)

“Merry Christmas, love,” Josie whispers on her approach toward the couch where her wife lounges, two brimming hot chocolates in hand and a cheesy Christmas film playing on the television. She’s changed into a pair of plaid pyjamas which match with Wren’s, much to her daughter’s chagrin and Yaz’s adoration. 

“Thanks, babe.” Yaz accepts the mug with a pleased hum, shuffling up to make room for the other woman. As soon as she sits down, she twists to lean back against the arm of the chair and slip her legs over Josie’s lap. “Merry Christmas.”

Josie flirts a hand along her wife’s ankle and calf but is otherwise distracted by the television in between sips of hot chocolate. Warm and exhausted after a day of festivities, she sinks back into the couch with a contented sigh. The quiet surrounding them is comfortable and easy as always, broken up only by the occasional exchange of glances or sweet smiles when something particularly funny occurs on screen. 

“I love this bit,” Yaz grins, observing the main character as he escapes from the clutches of two robbers via a rope swing. “I bet Wren would be the same if we left her here by accident.”

“Are you kidding? She’d probably talk them to death,” Josie counters with a snort, brushing the pads of her fingers over Yaz’s fluffy-socked toes to coax a laugh from her too. “Or kill them with kindness.”

Yaz can’t help the doting smile which follows her wife’s latter comment, chest warming. There’s a moment of thoughtful quiet before a gentle knock resonates against the door to the living room and a mess of blonde hair appears around the corner. 

“Speak of the devil,” Josie hums, peering over the back of the sofa. 

Yaz twists, slipping her legs from Josie’s lap to better face her daughter. “Alright, sweetheart?”

“Can’t sleep,” Wren shrugs, hands tucked into the pockets of her pyjamas — they had both only agreed to have pyjamas for Christmas strictly if they contained pockets. What _ for _, exactly, Yaz has no idea. Probably custard creams, in her wife’s case. “Can I stay down here for a bit?”

“Of course you can, babe,” Josie makes some room between them, patting the purple couch in encouragement. “Only because it’s Christmas day, though.”

Settled comfortably between them, Wren tucks her legs up beside her and toys with the sleeves of her top in a telling fashion. 

“Something on your mind, Wren?” Yaz probes gently, reaching out to halt her fidgetting fingers so she can lace them with her own. “Is that why you couldn’t sleep?”

The ten year old wilts, heaving a stealthy lungful of oxygen as if the weight of the world is on her shoulders. She nods once and ducks her head. 

“What’s wrong?” Josie tilts her head, dropping a hand to curl her fingers in a slow caress through her daughter’s long hair. She’d refused to have it cut after theorising her last hairdresser was an alien in disguise.

“Sometimes,” she starts, words laden with insecurity unlike her usual confident demeanour. “Sometimes, I feel left out. It feels like Robin gets all the attention and — and I know he’s just a baby so he can’t do anything for himself but —” she sighs, all at once a replica of Josie when she’s stressed about something. “Do you prefer him to me?”

Speechless, Yaz can only gawp before guilt settles, heavy and unyielding in the pit of her stomach. “_ Wren _ ,” she starts, blinking quickly as she thinks over the busy, hectic nature of the last seven months of Robin’s presence in their lives. “We could _ never, _ sweetheart.”

“Because I’m almost eleven, now, so maybe I’m — like — I don’t know — he’s really cute and doesn’t answer back yet, so it makes sense,” Wren continues, straightening up to glance between her parents in dismay. 

“_ Rowan, _ don’t you _ dare, _” Josie murmurs on a whisper, the use of her daughter’s name coaxing identical green eyes in her direction, blooming in surprise. “We love you just as much as we love Robin — but I’m really, really sorry we made you feel that way. I promise it wasn’t intentional, sweetie.”

“Am I bad, for being jealous?” Wren queries in a smaller voice, seemingly comforted by her parent’s responses for now.

“Definitely not, Wren. I went through the same thing as you when auntie Sonya was born,” Yaz admits gently, opening her arms until her daughter takes the incentive to slip into her lap. She’s a little old for it, but she’s petite, so Yaz really doesn’t mind. “You’re not a bad person at all, Wren. I’m glad you’ve told us how you’re feeling. Keeping things bottled up is never the answer.”

Josie sinks into Yaz’s side with a sigh, reaching out to rub at Wren’s back where she’s curled into Yaz’s chest. “Sure, Robbie needs a lot of attention right now, but it doesn’t mean we love you any less. In fact,” she leans in, brushing a kiss to her hairline, “I love you more every day, Wren.” She punctuates the statement with a hand on Wren’s stomach, where she flexes her fingers in a tickling motion to coax a smile from her lips. 

“What about me?” Yaz teases with a dramatic pout, arching a thick brow. Her eyes are soft, though, arms encircling Wren’s waist for a proper, secure cuddle. 

“You’re alright, babe,” Josie smirks, pupils glistening with mischief. 

“Uh-oh,” Wren whistles lowly before Yaz meets her gaze in determination. 

“Let’s get her, Wren.”

* * *

Ten minutes later, shackled with tinsel to the handle of one of the kitchen cupboards, Yaz and Wren work their way through Josie’s secret stash of custard creams. 

“Mercy!” Josie squeals when Yaz hovers her favourite coffee granules over the dustbin. “Babe — I swear, if you get rid of those, I’m filing for a divorce.”

“I should tie you up more often,” Yaz murmurs close enough to her ear for their daughter not to hear. “You’re much more pliant this way.”

Josie flushes red, desperately averting her gaze. 

“Gotcha.”

* * *

Two hours later, sweaty, bare and dishevelled as she smooths the redness around her wife’s wrists, Yaz’s brain aligns with a new idea. “Babe, do you think we should get her a dog?”

Josie wets her lips, still working to settle her breathing while her stomach muscles and thighs shudder with aftershocks. “I mean — she _ was _ really upset when Ginger ran away,” she murmurs, voice slightly hoarse. Yaz’s features sour at the mention of their old kitten, the same feline who decided to scarper away weeks after they first adopted it and never return. 

Wren had cried every night for a week. 

“But a dog wouldn’t do that, would it?” 

“No, not from Wren. She’d smother it with love. You know she would — and she’s older, now. She’d be able to look after it properly,” Yaz reasons, pressing a kiss to the sorest spot of Josie’s wrist and earning a slightly dazed look. 

“It might stop us from getting too broody, as well,” Josie adds with a laugh. “Not that I’d ever say no to another baby.”

Yaz sighs, curling her arms around her wife’s bare waist and letting her cheek come to rest against her chest. “So, we’ve reached a conclusion — a dog, or another baby.”

“Hm,” Josie agrees, biting back a thoughtful smile. “I just miss the feeling, you know? A whole life inside me, a tiny baby waiting to arrive.” She feels a little dizzy. “_ But _ I also love dogs. Imagine Wren’s face — it’s _just _passed her birthday, so she won't be expecting it. It would be perfect.”

“We’ve got time,” Yaz hums, pressing a kiss to Josie’s forehead. “Just wish _ I _had the instruments to get you pregnant, babe.”

“You can always pretend,” Josie hums, eyeing the toy still secured to her wife’s hips with a cheeky grin. She wets her lips, then ghosts them over a dusky nipple. 

“Do you _ ever _ run out of energy?”

“Not for you, baby,” Josie purrs, straddling her hips before she sinks onto the toy in a flourish, a breathy moan falling against Yaz’s neck. “Now let me have my fun before there’s a puppy _ and _ two kids interrupting us every five minutes.”

Yaz lies back, hands on her wife's hips as she works her up slowly and leisurely. "No complaints here."


	10. unspoken weight of words

“M-U-M.”

“_ Mmmmmm.” _

“Mum,” Josie hums back to her son, sprawled over her chest with his hands tangled in her hair and his brown eyes wide and curious. “The same again, buddy, but add an _ um _ on the end.”

“Mmmmm,” Robin murmurs, dark, full lips pursing with the effort. 

“_ Mum,” _Josie repeats, brushing her fingertip along the length of his nose to coax a giggle in return. 

“Bah,” Robin squeaks, moving a hand from her hair to poke and prod at her cheeks. 

“Robbie, that’s not even _ close. _ I don’t think you’re even trying at this point.”

Yaz breathes an amused scoff when she wonders into their bedroom, a bottle of warm milk in hand. “Are you trying to get him to talk again?” 

“He _ almost _ had it a solid four times, Yaz,” Josie whines, puffing out her cheeks when tiny fingers poke the skin there once more. 

“Sure, babe,” Yaz replies, sinking into the bed at her side and beaming when their son notices her presence. When he lunges clumsily for the bottle in her hand, Josie is there to catch him before he falls. “Mind if I steal him away from you for a minute?”

Josie hesitates for a fraction of a second, patting gently at her son’s back when he splutters. “Yeah, sure. I mean — of course,” she shrugs, lifting him up from her chest and sitting up to hand him into the arms of her wife. 

Yaz can’t help the suspicious expression she throws Josie’s way at her noticeable reluctance. She’s always been protective, but in the last few weeks and months, she’s been more attached to their son than usual, spending as much time as she can fussing over him and holding him in some way. Three times this week she’s returned home to find her wife falling asleep with him cradled against her chest. 

“Everything okay, Josie?” Yaz probes gently once Robin has taken to the bottle, gurgling noisily as he sips from its contents. She brushes a strand of dark hair from his doe eyes, cradling his form in a sitting position in her lap. 

She doesn’t miss the way Josie gravitates closer, reaching out to toy at his polka-dot socked feet while she watches over him like a protective mother hen. 

“Me? Yeah, I’m fine,” Josie hums, propping herself up on her free elbow and dotting a kiss to her wife’s cheek, but it’s a distraction technique more than anything. “Why’d you ask?”

“Easy, sweetheart. Slow down,” Yaz murmurs to the baby now sipping eagerly from his drink, gently coaxing it back from his mouth to set aside despite his whine of protest. She lifts him, then, resting him against her chest to pat his back and encourage his digestive system into gear. “And I was just wondering, that’s all.”

Josie sits up properly, crossing her legs and toying anxiously with the sequins woven into their handmade sheets. She’d made them over winter to procrastinate her commission work. “Hm,” she breathes, ducking her head to follow the movements of her hands. Blonde hair falls like a curtain over her features, obscuring her expression with ease. 

“Josie,” Yaz sighs gently, reaching out to squeeze her knee and implore her to look up. “Baby, talk to me.”

“I’m _ fine _,” Josie insists, lifting her glistening gaze to Yaz’s and offering a tight-lipped smile. “But I think the little guy just barfed on your shoulder.” 

“Oh, fu—” 

“No swearing, babe. He’s only six months old.”

Yaz sighs out a breath instead, slipping from the bed to prop him up in her arms and pad into the ensuite to mop the both of them up. 

In the meantime, Josie sinks back against the sheets and casts an arm over her forehead, trying her hardest to focus on the swirling plaster coating the ceiling rather than her racing thoughts. 

When Yaz returns, Josie’s favourite hoodie a replacement for her blouse, she tilts her head at her wife’s sprawled form and heaves a slow exhale. 

Josie glances up, blindly wiping at her cheeks in a telling motion which breaks Yaz’s heart. 

“_ Josie,” _ she sighs, slipping back into the bed and settling Robin’s freshly-changed form into arms Josie holds open for him. 

“Hello, little guy,” Josie breathes, turning to bury her nose against the crown of Robin’s head and dwell in his clean baby scent, watching as he settles with a faint mumble. 

“Josie, you’re constantly within a foot of him if you’re not already holding him, you keep hiding away when you’re not and don’t you _ dare _ think I haven’t noticed how quiet you’ve been these last few days,” Yaz finally divulges, giving into her innate concern and sitting up as though her posture gives her more authority. “Please just tell me what’s wrong,” she adds on a whisper, slumping slightly when Josie hides her face from view once more. “Is it me? Did I do something?”

“No,” Josie manages to answer in determination, voice breaking. She tenses with the need to keep her emotions at bay, clutching her son ever-closer. “You’re perfect,” she whispers, taking a shaky inhale. “That’s why it hurts so much.” 

“I don’t — Josie, I don’t understand,” Yaz murmurs, her tone soft enough to chip at a brimming damn and leave Josie to shudder with a sob she muffles against the top of their son’s head. 

* * *

_ Josie heaves over the toilet bowl, clutching at the edge of the seat when her whole body lurches and what little she’d eaten today is emptied from her system. _

_ “Josie? Are you in here?” her boss, a lovely middle-aged lady named Sarah-Jane, pads through the door to the cubicles with a worrisome tone to her voice. She stops just outside Josie’s stall at the sound of dry wretches, shoulders falling, and waits until, flushed and a little dazed, her best employee slips past the door with a hand pressed against the subtle but telling swell of her stomach, looking sheepish. _

_ “You’re taking the rest of the day off,” Sarah-Jane states gently, raising a hand to rub at Josie’s shoulder when she moves to protest. “Uh— no arguments. There’s more than enough staff here today and I don’t think you’ve ever had a day off since you started here, Josie.” Her features soften and she smiles, easy and maternal. “Go home and let Callie take care of you.” _

_ “But — we need all the money we can get, it’s not —” _

_ “ _ ** _Josie_ ** **, ** _ go home, relax, look after yourself,” she insists, arching both brows as if to say ‘don’t refuse something you know you need’. “I’d rather you here and well rather than burnt out and suffering, okay?” _

_ “Thank you,” Josie murmurs shyly, smoothing her palm in slow circles over her stomach when the muscles there protest. “I owe you one.” _

_ “No, you don’t. Now get yourself home, okay? I’m not losing my best employee because she’s exhausted herself out.” _

_ When Josie’s lips twitch up into a smirk, Sarah-Jane laughs. “Don’t tell the others, alright?” _

_ “My lips are sealed,” Josie chuckles, following her out from the toilets. “Thanks again, though. I’m really fine, but I guess I could do with some rest.” _

_ “ _ ** _Hallelujah_ ** _ , she admits it.” _

_ The door is unlocked when Josie returns home to their flat, but with a shrug, she slips past and heads for the bathroom. _

_ The slope of her stomach is fascinating and giddying when she observes it in the floor-length mirror, turning to the side to glance at it from a new angle and follow its swell with the palm of her hand. _

_ There’s a light thump against the wall behind her, where her bed stands on the other side, followed by a giggle, and it’s enough to pique her interest. _

_ “Callie? Are you home, babe?” Josie calls as she rounds from the bathroom to their shared bedroom, chest fluttering at the thought of spending the rest of the day with her partner rather than lazing around by herself. _

_ So when she opens the door to find two entangled forms lost in each other in the sheets of her own bed and Callie’s wide, brown eyes, she chokes on another heave, turning immediately for the bathroom to empty the remaining contents of her stomach. _

_ By the time she steps back out, eyes red-rimmed and head pounding, Callie is pacing, clothed, around their kitchen. It appears that the pretty redhead with a heart tattoo on her shoulder blade has left. _

_ “Babe, babe, _ ** _babe_ ** _ , listen — I’m so sorry,” Callie pleads, rushing over to press a kiss to her partner’s cheek and draw her into her arms. She smells of cheap beer and perfume which isn’t her own. “It meant nothing, I promise. It was just a one-time thing, I wasn’t even thinking.” _

_ Josie leans into her touch when Callie drops a hand to her stomach beneath her jumper, palm curving against the bump there. She drops her forehead to her shoulder, then nestles into her neck with a soft, wavering breath. “I don’t know what you’re apologising for, Callie,” she whispers with all the strength left in her, lifting her head to meet the other woman’s eyes. “Nothing happened, right?” _

_ “What do you me— uh,” Callie pauses, flummoxed, then relaxes with a growing smile, arms looping around Josie’s hips to draw her in like rodents to fatal poison. “Yeah. Right. That’s — nothing happened.” _

_ “Because what’s important right now, is our baby,” Josie points out as though she might’ve forgotten, her gaze steely but weakening by the second. “Right?” _

_ “The baby, yeah. That,” Callie agrees with a nod, swallowing thickly when Josie draws away to curl her arms around herself instead. She stumbles a little with the lack of contact, alcohol still rendering her balance off. _

_ Josie ducks her head to hide the tears welling, fresh and stubborn, in the corners of her vision, her hold tightening around her midsection. _

_ The only security she can find is in herself, now. She supposes that’ll do. _

* * *

“Oh, _ Josie _ ,” Yaz whispers into her wife’s scalp, where she holds her securely against her chest akin to the way Robin lays safe and secure against her wife, fast asleep despite Josie’s sniffled, teary anecdote. “Christ, I thought I hated her enough already, but oh my _ God _, she really doesn’t have a heart after all.” 

“So _ that’s _ why I want to make the most of this time with him. I didn’t want to mess up this time. I want to give him the love from _ two _ parents that Wren never got to experience until you, Yaz,” Josie admits with a hiccup, breathing in her son’s scent for the millionth time in one evening. “Am I bad for wanting that?” 

Blinking back her own tears, Yaz presses a kiss to the top of her head, drawing her fingers in a slow caress through her natural, light waves of blonde. “No, Josie. Not at _ all. _You’re amazing,” she enthuses, curling her free hand under Josie’s chin so she can press their foreheads together in tender affection. “Thank you so much for telling me.” 

Outside their bedroom door, Wren has paused on her journey to the bathroom to brush her teeth. Her shoulders sag and she peaks through the hinge of their slightly open door to ensure her mother is being effectively comforted before slipping away with a rocketing pulse. 

“I’m sorry for —” she heaves a quick breath, lungs protesting. “I’m sorry for not saying anything to you sooner.” 

“It’s okay,” Yaz coos, pressing a butterfly kiss to the corner of her mouth which comes away salty with tears. “It’s alright, I love you.”

Josie sighs against her, breaths falling against Yaz’s bottom lip. When Yaz catches the last tear to fall down her cheek, brushing it aside, Josie leans into her touch. “I love you too.”

* * *

Josie is the last to pad downstairs the next day, softening at the sight of her son making a mess of the breakfast Yaz tries her hardest to feed him and her daughter watching on in fits of laughter. She pauses mid-way down the stairs, a creaking floorboard immediately catching Wren’s attention. 

She isn’t prepared when her daughter jogs over to sweep her arms around her middle, firm and squeezing and more affectionate than usual. “Oof! Hey, kid. What’s this for?” 

Yaz glances up from her son to take in the sight, her expression all but glowing with affection. Even Robin seems entranced. 

“I just thought you might need one,” Wren chimes, arms still curled around her when she looks up at her in adoration. “‘Cause you’re the best.”

“Wow,” Yaz teases, huffing out a breath and arching both brows while Josie simply laughs with tears in her eyes. “That was a low blow, Wren.”

“Oh, come _ on,” _Wren giggles, turning her head back. “I never said you couldn’t join in, Mum.”

Josie’s heart is full by the time Yaz pads over, all adoring smiles and warm touches when she sweeps her arms around their daughter and her. 

It grows even more so when, through a messy mouthful of yoghurt, Robin gurgles out his first word. “Mmm — _ mum.” _

  
  



	11. wooden floors and little feet (TW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING for mentions of / references to miscarriage 
> 
> : //////

Between her palms, a full mug of tea sits rapidly cooling, but her thoughts are in more abundance. 

When she glances down at the legs tucked up to her chest, all she still continues to see is red. 

Mixed in with the light blue of thin sheets three weeks earlier, crimson had seemed out of place. 

Rightfully so. 

“Josie.” 

She hears the name from a distance, but she doesn’t have the energy to turn her head. Cold liquid makes her flinch, features creasing, but she continues sipping. 

“Josie, that’s been — baby, that’s been sitting there for half an hour,” Yaz murmurs, the couch sinking at Josie’s side when she reaches for her polka-dot mug. “Let me make you a fresh one.” 

“S’fine,” Josie murmurs, taking another sip. She manages to peel her eyes from the tissue dispenser eventually, the blue and white checker box pattern seared onto the back of her eyelids when she blinks for the first time in what feels like hours. 

Her pupils are glossy with irritation when she turns to her wife, the smile on her lips weak but trying. 

With the patience of a God, Yaz reaches up, thumb tucked into her sleeve, to wipe away a runaway tear from Josie’s sore eyes. “I’m taking Wren out in a bit, but mum should be on her way soon. Robin’s taking his afternoon nap, but he’ll be up any minute, okay?” 

Nodding, Josie leans into her touch, wetting already damp lips when a secure arm winds around her shoulders and draws her into the distinct smell of coconut and honey. She swallows against a burning sensation at the back of her throat, the motion a habit by now. 

“It’s cold,” the blonde murmurs on her next sip of tea as though the prospect has only just occurred to her. 

Yaz’s answering huff of laughter melts through the ear pressed to her throat, igniting enough warmth in Josie’s chest to make up for the tea she mutedly hands over. 

“You’re going to have to let go if you want a new one, babe,” Yaz murmurs into the crown of her head, noting with warm pride that she’d finally taken a shower today when she breathes in the scent of fresh lemon. 

When she moves to stand, Josie sticks to her like a shadow, arms slinking around her waist and a slightly gaunt cheek moulding against her shoulder as soon as she’s readied two mugs and set the kettle to boil. 

“Custard cream?” Yaz quips over her shoulder, reaching for the biscuit tin with her free hand. She can feel Josie’s head shaking against her before she replies.

“Not hungry,” she hums despite her rumbling stomach, pulling back only when Yaz turns her to face her properly. 

Working through the best approach, Yaz’s brows pinch and she meets her gaze in a tentative request. “You have to eat something, Josie,” she implores, hands settling at her waist. “You’ve had three spoonfuls of soup and half a cup of tea today. You’re basically empty.”

The second Josie’s bottom lip starts to tremble, Yaz retraces her words with a whispered curse, drawing her wife against her chest and smoothing a hand up and down her back. “Baby — I — you _ know _I didn’t mean it like that. I’m so sorry.”

Heaving a shaky inhale, Josie simply sniffs against the collar of Yaz’s jumper, training herself out of her funk with a swift shake of her head. “It’s alright. It’s fine. I’m fine.” She draws back a touch, carding her fingers through her hair and softening under Yaz’s patient, albeit guilty look. “You don’t have to walk on eggshells around me.” 

“I know,” Yaz breathes, pressing a kiss to Josie’s forehead. When her wife leans into the touch, her shoulders ease in tension and she sways her gently even though there’s no music playing. “I know.”

Robin is pliant and soft and gurgling when he wakes ten minutes later, and, scooping him up from his cot, Josie takes comfort in his perhaps _ not _ so fresh smelling form.

“Uh-oh. I think someone’s in need of a bath, baby boy.” she croons, settling him down in the bathroom to change him. She works on instinct, the act second-nature and perfectly distracting. “You almost smell as bad as your sis—” 

“I don’t smell!” Wren interrupts on her way past the family bathroom, features set in as big a pout as the ten year old can muster without losing her _ cool _ facade. 

When Josie laughs, tears spring to her eyes. 

Wren’s pupils widen in surprise and she steps into the room, leaning against the open door with her own brimming smile. “I’ve missed your laugh, mam.”

“Sweetie, don’t —” Josie swallows thickly, but a swift kick to her arm and a gurgled _ mum _ drags her attention back towards Robin before she can allow another bout of emotion to catch her out. “ _ Impatient _, are we?” 

With a relieved grin, Wren pads over to kneel at her mother’s side. “If you’re giving him a bath, can I help?”

When a raucous echoes from upstairs while Yaz is clearing up, she can’t help but fear the worst. 

So, finding her wife and daughter giggling over a half-filled tub of water while Robin bats clouds of bubbles and splashes of water their way, she decides against halting a wide, genuine grin in its tracks. 

“I swear I’m the only adult in this house sometimes,” Yaz drawls teasingly when, giggling until her eyes turn glossy, Josie styles Robin’s dark hair into a mohawk. 

Her wife glances up while Wren continues her brother’s updo, the breezy nature of her smile a welcome reprieve. “Don’t be a spoilsport, babe.” 

“Yeah, mum, don’t be a spoilsport,” Wren echoes. 

Throwing her hands in the air, Yaz concedes in faux-annoyance. 

While Josie returns to the task at hand, however, she sends Wren a wink, holding five fingers up. 

With an answering nod, Wren scoops up a layer of bubbles and blows a handful in her mother’s direction. 

Five minutes later, Wren slips into her coat and a pair of boots by the front door, quelling the excitement coaxing her stomach into queasiness. 

Curled up on the couch in front of the television, Josie props Robin up in her lap and gazes at him while he sips and dribbles through a small bottle of juice. 

“Where are you both off to?” Josie quips when Yaz pads in from the kitchen, tossing Wren her scarf while she shrugs on her leather jacket. 

“My library books are on their return date,” Wren lies flawlessly before Yaz can answer herself, three books in hand to assert its legitimacy. 

“Better not risk it again,” Yaz adds with a sweet smile, brushing a kiss to her son’s forehead, then her wife’s in turn. “Back in a tick, babe.” 

With a faint _ hmph _, Josie tips her chin up, arching a brow until Yaz presses a butterfly kiss to her lips instead. “Better.” 

Yaz rolls her eyes playfully, but she’s grateful for the momentary lift of her wife’s spirits. With a final squeeze to her shoulder, she heads for the door. “Mum will be ‘round in five, but if she gets too much, just let me know, okay?”

Sinking into the couch with a somewhat fearful smile, Josie nods. “‘Course.” Then, while Robin starts to bite at her fingers instead of drinking from his bottle, she wilts slightly.

“Won’t be long, promise,” Yaz murmurs gently, brows furrowed in concern. Behind her, the door swings open and Wren jogs outside. 

When quiet seeps through the house again, bar Robin’s quiet huffs and grunts, it settles over Josie’s shoulders like a dead weight. 

With a sigh, she turns the volume up on the television if only to drown out the silence. It’s enough to capture her son’s attention, and he shifts and squirms until he’s facing the screen so he can take in the moving pictures and their responding sounds. 

Usually, she’d point out the images and encourage new words from her son’s lips, but this time around, she’s too exhausted to bring herself to care. 

That, in itself, is enough to tug uncomfortably at her chest until she lays her head back and closes her eyes. 

“Mum,” Robin murmurs seconds later, apparently picking up on the anxious energy spilling haphazardly from her form. “_ Mum _.” It’s phrased more like a command this time, tiny hands fisting into her jumper while the squirming baby flops against her in a half-formed hug. 

“Thanks, buddy,” Josie sighs as she buries her nose against his dark waves, breathing him in and seeking comfort in his soft, huffing little breaths against her chest while her arms sweep securely around his relaxed form. “You kids have a way of knowing exactly what I need.” 

A polite, four-beat knock drags Josie from a shallow nap ten minutes later, Robin’s hands still clutched into her jumper when she slips from the sofa to pad to the door. Taking a steadying inhale, she plasters a polite smile on her face and nudges it open. “Hiya, Yaz’s mum.”

“Every _time_, Josie,” Najia teases, but it doesn’t have her usual bite. There’s a level of sympathy to her smile and tone that Josie has to try her hardest not to grow frustrated by, but can acknowledge that it's just her way of trying to help. “It’s Najia.”

“Come on in.” Josie steps aside, eyeing the carrier bag brimming full at Najia’s side. “Najia, you didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to, Josie,” the older woman counters with a rub to her shoulder. “It’s the least I could do.”

The phrase makes Josie duck her head, taking another inhale from the crown of Robin’s head, and Najia makes a mental note to distract, rather than remember. 

In a scenario like this, it’s not uncommon for two people to react differently, and clash, so she reigns herself in until Josie glances up again, offering a guilty smile. “Sorry — uh, would you like some tea?”

“I’m parched,” Najia nods in encouragement, setting her bag aside when Robin notices her presence and starts grappling for her. 

“You wanna greet your nani properly, buddy?” Josie coos to the suddenly wriggling form, awaiting Najia’s eager acceptance before she passes him over and pads to the kettle. She fetches two mugs from the cupboard above, giving in to her complaining gut when she nabs a biscuit from the tin and promptly nibbles away. 

“He’s getting big,” Najia observes while Robin toys at the lapel of her blazer, feeding it between his fingers and reeling with the new sensations. “Aren’t you, Robin?” 

“Still working on the talking thing,” Josie quips, re-energised from one biscuit alone, so she steals a couple more while she works on their teas, much to Najia’s silent approval. “He’s managed _ mum _ , _ dog _ and _ Wren _ so far.”

“I bet she’s pleased,” Najia chuckles on the last note, earning an answering scoff from Josie. 

“She hasn’t let up on it since.” 

“Wren,” Robin murmurs around his fingers, which have slipped past his lips and left a smear over Najia’s jacket in the process. 

When Najia laughs, Robin grins, wide and goofy and downright illegal. 

“You sure your daughter didn’t birth a parrot rather than a baby, Najia?” 

* * *

By the time Najia has left, Josie feels a little warmer and a whole meal fuller, despite the niggling at the back of her head and in the occasional strain and lurch of her heart. 

She’s left Robin to crawl clumsily along the floor, building and demolishing towers of soft blocks under her watchful eye. 

From the coffee table, her sketchbook glares at her, so with a slow inhale, she scoops the navy blue book up and slips her pencil from its binding for the first time in three weeks. 

By the time hushed whispers and two pairs of feet amble through the front door, Josie has filled four pages with various designs, linked by feathered wings and clear thought. 

Popping her head over the edge of the couch to eye their suspicious movements, Josie closes and sets the book aside. “Everything alright, ladies?”

Wren is beaming when she jogs over, excitement radiating off of her in waves. She crouches to lift her confused little brother into her arms, grateful for Josie’s intervention when he turns out heavier than she thought. “Thanks, ma.”

“Where’s Yaz?” Josie tilts her head, adjusting her grip on Robin so she can prop him on her hip. 

“Right here, babe!” Yaz’s voices carries through from outside the front door. “Wren, sweetheart? Can I borrow you for a second?” 

Scampering out through the door with a squeal, Wren leaves her flummoxed mother behind. 

Yaz is out of breath when she steps inside, lugging a small crate into the room and noticeably crossing her fingers when she reaches for their son. “C’mere, Robbie. Let your mam go so she can open the box.” 

Wren closes the door behind her and sweeps over to Josie’s bemused form, reaching for her hand. “Come on, mam. You can open it.” 

“Wh— it’s — what’s all this about?” 

“We figured now was as good a time as any,” Yaz murmurs at her side, but there’s a hesitation to her expression, familiar wariness dredging back up. “Go on, open it.”

So, padding forward, Josie sinks to the floor just before the box to peel back the thin layer of decorative paper and reveal the malleable metal of a… dog’s cage?

She can hear the tell-tale whimpers and yaps before she even opens the tiny door separating the dog from her, so when a golden puppy bounds clumsily from its confines and tumbles into her knees, Josie gasps out a sob. 

There’s a hand at her back when she draws the squirming ball of golden fluff to her chest, and beside her, Wren stifles tears of her own. 

Yaz is warm and present behind her when she sinks down to join them both, allowing Robin to perch, nonplussed and entirely oblivious in her lap.

“Oh my _ God _,” Josie cries into the puppy’s silky fur, laughing through tears when it starts lapping its tongue against her cheek, her chin; anything it can reach. 

“Do you like him, Josie?” Yaz murmurs, hand firm at her back until, pink-cheeked and crying happy tears, her wife turns to face her. 

“He’s perfect.” Josie scoffs a laugh when the puppy wriggles free to clamber over to Wren and assault her dampened cheeks with eager, harmless swipes of its tongue. “You’re the _ best _, Yaz.” 

Bridging the gap between them to press a kiss to her wife’s lips, Yaz revels in the first genuinely gleeful smile she’s witnessed from her in far too long. It’s not the end — no amount of puppies can solve that — but it’s a start. And that’s all she needs. 

* * *

The patter of paws against wood-panelled kitchen floors echoes when Josie sleepily works her way through the process of coffee-making the next morning, the newest member of the family a constant presence at her side while she needs him most. 

A tentative growl from her feet captures her attention and, glancing down, she finds the puppy gnawing at the corner of a suspiciously familiar book. 

“Easy, Rusty,” Josie warns when she crouches to pick the offending item up, then lift the chaotic ball of energy into her other arm. Upon checking the inside cover, she breathes out a long-winded sigh. “Right then, little guy. You up for some trouble?” 

Entirely unthreatening _ yap _ received, Josie jogs up the stairs to her daughter’s room. 

At the end of her bed, she lets the puppy run free over the Wren-shaped lump and rouse her from her slumber with a squeal. 

“Rowan Khan-Smith,” Josie starts when Wren sits up to tackle the puppy into the sheets with a flurry of giggles. “Your library books are late _ again.” _

  
  
  



	12. you're the universe i'm helpless in (M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY @yasminkhxns i hope u had a wonderful day and i hope this contributes somewhat even though its basically just smut : )))))))))))

Josie’s scent is the first thing Yaz takes in when slumber chips away and she’s submitted to the hands of wakefulness. 

Warm lips grace her neck when she stirs, breathing a faint hum into the quiet solace of their room on a lazy Sunday morning. 

“Morning,” Josie hums against her throat, blinking sleepy hazel eyes up towards her wife when she rouses. “Did I wake you?” 

“No, no, you’re good.” Yaz breathes, reaching up to thread her fingers through her hair and ghost over her scalp with short nails until she lifts her head, hovering inches from her lips. “Really good.”

The words leave Josie squirmier than she’d like to admit, and, ever observant, Yaz giggles into the kiss she grants her. 

“Still got it.” 

Josie huffs, tilting her head to sink into another loving kiss. “Shut up.”

Yaz’s laughter dies on her lips when a warm tongue slips into her mouth, itching to explore after so long treading between grief and exhaustion. She relaxes back into the mattress when Josie shifts, clumsily slipping a thigh between her own. 

“Josie,” she hears Yaz sigh into the kiss as it deepens, the breathiness to the name shooting like a lightning bolt straight to her gut. 

“This okay?” Josie whispers between kisses, fingers inching beneath her pyjama top to span her wife’s stomach. She’d been working out recently, between jogging and yoga, and it’s obvious when faint definition can be traced beneath her palm. Why did she take so long to appreciate this?

Yaz melts beneath her, fingers catching a lock of hair and tugging gently just to swallow Josie’s resulting gasp. “More than okay, Josie.”

“It’s just that it’s — it’s been so long,” Josie purrs, drawing back for air and quelling a moan when Yaz leans up to ghost her lips against her jaw instead. “Too long.” 

“That can be fixed,” Yaz hums, teeth nicking at the sensitive skin just shy of her earlobe. 

Josie’s head is tipped back against her pillow five minutes later, Yaz’s lips closing in on her bare chest while she shudders like a leaf in the wind. She lifts a hand to the back of her neck, urging her on, at the same time as a knock rattles against their bedroom door. 

“Mum?”

Yaz peels back with a bemused chuckle while Josie holds back a groan. Of _ course _ they’re interrupted. “Yes, sweetheart?” she calls, tossing Josie her t-shirt as she slips from the sheets to head for the door. 

When she nudges the door ajar, peering out, she finds Wren grimacing while Robin stands on wobbly feet, absolutely clueless at her side. “I just went to play with him in his room and he’s had an _ explosion _.” She raises a hand to her nose, pinching it between her fingers and acting out a dramatic wretch. “He stinks.” 

Heaving a sigh, Yaz glances back into the room to find Josie smirking, head shaking fast and firm. After shooting her a glare, she closes the door behind her and scoops their nine month old up. “Alright, I’ll get you all cleaned up. Can you let Rusty out and give him his breakfast?” 

“Over cleaning up baby poop? _ Any day _.” Wren is gone faster than she can blink, jogging down the stairs to a chorus of excited yaps and barks from the newest addition to their family. 

“Poop,” Robin echoes, toying at the ends of Yaz’s hair on the way to the bathroom. 

Josie snorts a laugh on her way past, escaping downstairs before Yaz can reach out and haul her in to help. “Good luck!” 

“You little —” Yaz starts, then turns to the wriggling baby in her arms and shoves the rest of the sentence back down her throat. “Don’t get any more ideas, buddy.”

By the time Yaz makes it downstairs with a freshly changed and babbling Robin, Josie has already set aside some breakfast for her. She sets him down in his high-chair when he starts wriggling, then sinks into a seat at his side. 

“Are you sure that’s wise, Wren?” Josie muses when her daughter chooses to perch on the floor with a plate of toast and pet Rusty while she eats. 

“I don’t mind sharing my food,” Wren replies matter-of-factly, earning a whine from the puppy perched at her side. 

“That’s not — alright, suit yourself.” Rolling her shoulders in a shrug, she settles a fresh mug of tea before Yaz and slips into the chair beside Robin with his favourite yoghurt. “You gonna eat all this today, Robbie, or would you rather decorate your jumper with it?” 

A series of babbles later, Josie tilts her head. “Don’t talk about your mother like that, babe.”

Yaz’s laughter is muffled into her tea, doting gaze set on observing them both. 

Wren escapes into the garden at the first opportunity she gets, gleeful laughter echoing through into the house while Yaz finishes up her porridge. “Thanks for making breakfast, babe,” she murmurs on the way to the sink, brushing a hand against her wife’s shoulder. “You’re so good to me.” 

Josie loses a battle with her instincts and shudders with the effect of her words, cheeks flaring and words jumbling at the back of her throat. “Thanksitsreallynothingspecialitsjustbreakfast.”

Robin squeals with laughter when the last spoonful of yoghurt falls to the table before him, and because he has the same impulse control and curiosity as his mother, he reaches out to draw his fingers messily through the substance.

Josie’s nose scrunches in distaste but it’s too late to stop him now. “_ Seriously _?”

Tossing a kitchen towel her way, Yaz snorts. “He’s going to be an artist just like you one day.” 

“Shut up.” 

“You shouldn’t be saying that if you’re hoping to get some later, baby.” 

Warmth resonates from Josie’s form in seconds and Yaz catches her tongue between her teeth in a smirk. 

“Poop,” Robin adds, wriggling in his seat. 

Yaz’s brows furrow, smirk fading, and she shoots her wife a glare. 

“Don’t look at me! That’s on Wren this time.”

* * *

“If I kiss you do you reckon it’ll take the taste of your dad’s pakora away?” Josie hums late into the afternoon, joining her wife at the sink to wash up in the Khan’s old family flat. Najia and Hakim are entertaining their offspring just around the corner, but the warmth still lingering in her gut forces Josie to sweep Yaz’s plait aside and press a kiss to her neck. 

“After all this time, I’m surprised you’re not used to it by now,” Yaz chortles in reply, the sound wavering off into a hum when Josie noses against the spot just behind her ear, lips following in its wake. “Josie, we can’t. They’re right there.” 

“Didn’t stop us when we first got together.” With a childish huff, Josie reaches out, drying a soapy plate to set aside and awaiting the next one. 

When Yaz stills at her side for a second longer than necessary, she glances in her direction and finds only a smitten, reminiscent expression. “What’s that look for?”

“Just thinking back,” Yaz answers in a daze. “Remember when I first brought you around to meet mum and dad properly? And —” 

“Wren asked if she could call you her mum,” Josie finishes, bumping shoulders. “And you cried for the rest of the evening,” she snorts. 

“Hey!” Yaz counters indignantly, splashing soapy water her way and dampening the bottom of Josie’s blue jumper. “It was a big thing, babe. That was a perfectly reasonable reaction.” 

“Mm-hm. Sure,” Josie hums, uncaring and delightedly ignorant to her playful actions when she leans in to press her lips to the corner of her wife’s mouth. 

Yaz tilts her head for a proper kiss, relishing in the quiet hum Josie breathes into her mouth seconds later. She loops her arms lazily around her neck and inches up, sinking into her form when warm palms settle respectfully at her waist to draw her in like a moth to a flame. 

Josie’s fingers curl into Yaz’s blouse and slip briefly beneath to trace the firm expanse of her stomach while she slowly reeps all the oxygen from her lungs. 

An exasperated sigh and an audible pout bring their tender moment to an end less than a minute later. When, pink-cheeked and slightly breathless, Yaz draws back from Josie’s hold, she spots Wren standing in the doorway with her hands over her eyes and a firm grimace set on her lips. 

“Are you done?”

Yaz breaks into a faint laugh, treating her wife to an elbow to the ribs when a sly _not yet _is whispered in her ear. “Yes, sweetheart. You can look now.” 

“Oh my God,” Wren gasps when she draws her hands away, hazel-green eyes immediately focusing in on the dampness to the bottom of her mother’s jumper. She breaks into a flurry of loud, teasing laughter at the confused expression Josie shoots her seconds later. “Mam, did you _ wet yourself _?”

Rounding the corner, Najia’s expression is the picture of alarm. 

* * *

The door to the ensuite closes behind Yaz with a resounding _click _and, hugging a towel to her form, she hums out a song as she heads for her wardrobe for a fresh pair of pyjamas. 

_ “You’re never gonna catch us dancing in the dark, ‘cause —” _

“I already know your heart,” Josie finishes the verse; a sudden smiling presence in the doorway. When she notices the amount of skin on show, however, her words canter off into a faint whisper and she draws their bedroom door closed behind her back. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Yaz murmurs after her initial flounder, clothes in hand. “What are the kids up to?” 

Green eyes widen then darken in quick succession while Josie approaches, already wetting her lips. “Wren’s reading Robbie a bedtime story. She might be a while, though. You know she doesn’t like reading snippets to him— she has to read the whole book in one go. So…” 

Faux-innocence paints Yaz’s expression and she arches a full brow in question, setting her clothes aside for now. “So?”

“So, there’s plenty of time for…” Josie reaches out once she’s close enough, a hand at her hip and fingers bunching into the material in seconds. She leans in, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the curve of her shoulder and catching the flutter of Yaz’s pulse in her neck. “This.”

“Jo, they could burst in any second,” Yaz counters weakly, already tilting her head when Josie ducks her head under her chin to press kisses to her throat instead. 

“Don’t jinx it,” Josie argues with a faint huff, giving a faint tug at Yaz’s towel and moulding a cheeky grin against her neck. “C’mon, baby.”

Feigning exasperation, Yaz relaxes against her, but a brief lapse in her wife’s attention leaves Josie backed up against their chest of drawers in seconds.

“You’ve been so good to me all day today, Josie. I think you deserve some attention first,” Yaz purrs, leaning in for a kiss which sets fireworks off in both of their brains. Josie melts against her with a breathy sort of noise and Yaz has to try her hardest to confine and lock up her smugness when she captures her bottom lip between her teeth and sucks. 

“Mmyeah, that’s cool — that’s cool with me,” Josie mumbles against her, slipping a hand into dark, damp curls to draw her wife closer. A warm hand slips beneath her jumper then peels it up while their kisses turn increasingly heated. It’s clear both women are in need of some TLC, but the intensity of such need is only now breaching the surface. 

“I’ve missed this,” Yaz purrs at the same time as she pulls back to draw Josie’s jumper over her head, tossing it aside carelessly and working on her bra. As soon as she’s bare, Yaz leans in again, lips and tongue descending on a dusky nipple if only to divulge in Josie’s keening gasps. “You were right. It’s been too long. You’re so right, you’re so _ good _.”

Josie’s lashes flutter and she grips at the edge of the drawers while her wife takes her apart with such little effort. The continuous praises falling from her lips make her squirm and she desperately presses her thighs together in Yaz’s peripherals. “God, you’re — Yaz, I need you.”

“And I, you, babe,” Yaz hums, drawing back to let her hands replace her lips. She sinks into a kiss at the same time as her thumbs brush each hardening bud in turn, circling the sensitive flesh until Josie is mewling into her mouth. 

She has to loop an arm around her waist when her ministrations send Josie’s knees weak in minutes, breathing a fond but amused chuckle into the limited space between them. She turns her around to relieve the pressure on her trembling legs, giving her a gentle nudge towards their bed. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Josie breathes, lying back and gazing on as Yaz climbs on after her to straddle her hips. Instantly, her wife starts working away at the fly of her jeans, skipping the baring stage to sink a hand straight into her ruined underwear. “Mmphohfuck.” 

“Says you,” Yaz counters, lowering her head to press a kiss to the tattoo laying prominent against the underside of her breast. An addition has been made more recently — the outline of a robin joined on a branch with the wren ingrained years previously. “Look at you, all flushed and needy. And —” with a sigh, she lets her hand drift further south, fingertips finding only slick heat. She breathes a curse against her chest. “_ God _, you’re so wet.” 

Josie’s response dies on her tongue when Yaz’s thumb settles at her clit, rubbing lazy circles which send her senses spiralling and her stomach muscles clenching. “Ah, oh, _ ohhhh. _Oh, fuck.”

“Language,” Yaz chides, nipping at the skin just shy of her nipple. The string of breathy moans and whines leaving her lips only fuel her ego, and she lets her thumb continue stimulating her clit while a digit strays to the source of heat between her legs. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this wound up before, baby.”

Josie clings at her forearm, feeling the muscles working beneath her touch and biting back a groan. Her thighs have already clamped around the intrusion, but Yaz continues to bring her rapidly closer. She’s about to wriggle further out of her jeans so she has a better angle when —

“Mam!” Wren half-shouts, half-screams from downstairs and both women startle so quick foreheads almost collide. “Mum!”

“Oh, for f—” Josie groans, but Yaz simply laughs. Reaching for her jumper, the blonde stands on wobbly legs, cheeks burning. “Is it too early to send them both off to boarding school for a few years?”

“Ah, but then who would keep order around here, babe? Because it certainly ain’t us,” Yaz remarks, slipping her towel free just as Josie reaches the door. Bare, she pops her brows at Josie’s slackened jaw and blazing gaze, then draws a t-shirt over her head. 

For a moment, Josie considers crossing back through the room and —

“** _Mum!_ ** _ ” _The shouting is more urgent, now, and Josie groans as she jogs along the landing and heads down the stairs. 

“I’m coming!” 

Yaz’s childish snort echoes from their room when Josie half-clambers, half-topples over the baby gate at the bottom of the stairs.

“What’s hap— oh.”

In the corner of the kitchen, Rusty has burrowed in on himself and sits, trembling and whining and incredibly guilty. 

Before her, Wren glances between her mother and the yellowed material of her sock, then the suspicious puddle in the centre of the room. 

“I stood in puppy wee.” 

Freshly dressed and mid-way through plaiting her hair, Yaz cracks up with laughter at the same exact time as her wife, leant in the doorway.

“Mum! Mam! It’s not funny!” Wren whines, arms folding and expression souring when her parents simply reel with more laughter. 

Rusty’s guilty manner dissipates and he patters over, golden tail wagging as he nudges at Yaz’s legs. 

It’s only when, babbling curiously, Robin hobbles over to the curious pool of liquid and reaches out to touch it, that Josie sweeps in to scoop him up. “You really don’t want to taste that, buddy. Take my word on it.” 

Before them, their eleven year old continues to sulk. 

“Wren, love, could you grab the mop? I don’t think your socks are much use soaking all this up, but thanks for trying.”

“_ Mum!” _

* * *

“I can’t believe she manipulated me into letting her stay up two hours later than usual,” Yaz sighs in disbelief, dabbing at her face with a fluffy blue towel before she pads through to their adjoining bedroom. “How come she always gets away with it?”

“‘Cause you’re too soft on her,” Josie mumbles around her toothbrush, moving to lean in the doorway and observe her wife in more than just affection. 

Yaz peels back the sheets, then turns to meet her wandering gaze with a faint smirk. “Is that a complaint, Mrs Khan-Smith?”

Her piercing gaze leaves Josie seconds off choking on toothpaste and she freezes when Yaz lifts a hand to begin unbuttoning her sleep shirt from its confines. 

“No,” she murmurs around the brush, hastily slipping back into the bathroom to finish up brushing her teeth. 

By the time she returns, Yaz is locking their bedroom door, bare from the waist up and as smug as ever. “No more interruptions.” 

Sending a silent prayer up to whatever gods may be lingering overhead, Josie sweeps her arms around her wife’s waist at the soonest opportunity, ducking her head to lave her lips over her pulse before a hand at her shoulder stops her. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, babe. You’re just wearing far too much clothing and I still haven’t finished what we started earlier.” 

“Oh. _ Oh. _Hm,” Josie swallows, quelling a shiver. “Do you want me to—” 

“Be a good girl and strip for me?” Yaz purrs, fluttering her lashes in faux-innocence despite the fact she _ knows _ how well the words work on her.

Josie’s answering whimper is caught in her throat when lips descend on her neck, tongue flicking over her pulse. She wriggles out of her tartan pyjama bottoms and peels her top over her head, sighing at the brief loss of attention on her neck. 

Yaz has her stumbling into bed in no time, mouth on her chest while her hand disappears between her legs to re-stoke the fire already set alight more than once today. “You’re still _ soaked _, babe. Have you been thinking about this all evening?”

“Well, we didn’t exactly get to finish up earlier, so you can’t blame me,” Josie reels, back arching and a gasp escaping when Yaz sinks two fingers straight past her entrance and into welcoming heat. The slick sound makes her shudder and she has to hold back from coming there and then, reaching out to grip at Yaz’s forearm. 

“At this rate, my ego's gonna go through the roof,” Yaz remarks when fresh arousal coats her fingers, which curl inside her before starting to pump, deep and slow. 

“Yaz, please,” Josie all but sobs, hips rolling with the pressure, inviting her touch deeper while her flushed features twist into desperation. “I need you.”

Yaz smirks against her chest, grazing a pink, pert nipple with her teeth. “How, baby?”

“I need you to — _ ah,” _ Josie cries out when her thumb drops to her clit, suddenly rubbing in firm circles and coaxing her release rapidly closer. When she picks up the pace and starts flicking her tongue over her sensitive bud at the same time, the sensations become too much. “Oh fuck — oh, _ oh _, Yaz, I’m —” 

She comes with a shuddering cry, jerking against her and pulsating around still moving fingers with breathless little whimpers. “Holy shit.”

“Did you just —” 

“I—”

“I mean I got you were wound up but —”

“_ Yaz,” _ Josie grumbles in embarrassment, hot, pink cheeks pressed against her neck where she hides until her breathing returns to normal. “Oh my God, that’s — I’m sorry, I don’t know what —” 

“Hey, hey,” Yaz hums, voice softening. She can still hear the teasing lilt there, though, so Josie tucks closer, completely disguising her face in dark locks. “Josie, look at me.”

Ashamedly, green eyes level with her own a second later, brows furrowed adorably alongside her frown. 

“I was just teasing, babe, promise,” Yaz murmurs, lifting her chin to press a kiss to her lips, then another. “Don’t be embarrassed. I’m flattered, honestly. Please believe me.” 

With a faint, grumbled _ hmph _, Josie sinks into her embrace once more, framing her perfect face between her palms and melting into the kiss she grants her. 

“Didn’t answer me, love,” Yaz murmurs when they pull back, breathless and re-energised. She hums when Josie blindly reaches between them to palm at her chest, thumbs skirting dusky nipples. “Mmph— _ Josie.” _

“I believe you,” Josie whispers, shuffling down to lather her chest in attention. She straddles her hips, letting a moan fall against her breast when Yaz slips a thigh between her legs and drives it slowly upwards. “_ Christ _ — how do you do this to me, Yaz?” 

“Witchcraft, baby,” Yaz laughs, but it canters off into a moan when Josie’s kisses sink lower against her. She nips at the space below her belly button while she works her pyjama shorts down slim thighs, casting them aside carelessly. 

Repositioned on her stomach between her legs, Josie wets her smirking lips. Lifting her gaze from the soaked heat inches from her face, she catches Yaz tipping her head back in anticipation. “Babe, watch me.”

Only once dark, deep brown meets hazel does Josie seal her lips around her clit and absolutely ravage her wife for all she’s worth — the world, if anyone were to ask. 

She starts with slow swirls of her tongue while a hand slips beneath her chin, gathering her arousal and sinking inside like a knife through butter. She holds her gaze when, noisily, she sucks at the sensitive little nub rendering her wife a flurry of shivers and whines. 

“Oh, — oh, _ ah, _ right there. God, _ Josie. _”

“Here?” Josie mumbles against her, jaw working effortlessly when Yaz’s gaze drinks her in. She flicks her tongue over her clit before sucking once more, teeth grazing the outer flesh. 

Yaz’s responding groan is all the answer she needs, accompanied by her whimpered “Fuck me.”

Crooking her finger to grace her walls, Josie adds another before beginning to thrust both deep and steady. “On it, babe.”

When Yaz can no longer form words in reply, Josie takes her time mapping her out beneath her tongue like many times before, scrawling her name in lazy strokes across her clit until a hand in her hair encourages firmer actions. 

“I’m —” Yaz starts when the punishing pace rears its head and she starts clenching her thighs against Josie’s ears, hand fisted in her hair. “Ohgodimclose.”

Josie hums her affirmation against her clit, the vibrations sending shockwaves up her wife’s spine. Her free hand raises, cupping her breast and ghosting her thumb over her hardened nipple. “Mine.”

Yaz gasps, back arching in a perfect bow and only releasing its tension when her orgasm crests and envelopes her in a blissful haze. She rolls her hips against her wife’s talented mouth until oversensitivity rids her of further instinct and, with a breathy moan, she cups her cheek to draw her away. 

“You’re beautiful,” Josie whispers when she clambers up to her side, sweeping an arm over her hips and pressing dampened lips to her shoulder. “Absolutely brilliant.”

Catching her breath, Yaz hums, stomach and thigh muscles still jumping with tiny aftershocks. “And you should really save the energy you spend talking all the time to do this more often.”

“You say the sweetest things,” Josie giggles, giddy and flushed and smitten as she curls around her like a baby koala. “I love you.” 

“Oh, shit, you’re catching feelings?” Yaz turns her head, meeting Josie’s amused gaze and quelled smirk. “Aw, babe. I thought we agreed no strings attached?”

“Is that a wedding ring?” Josie cries dramatically, lifting Yaz’s hand into her own and letting free a gasp. “You never told me you were _ married _!”

“Oh, don’t worry about her,” Yaz murmurs on the verge of laughter, playing along just to encourage Josie’s expressive features. “She barely lasts a minute in bed.”

Josie’s face turns like thunder, steely and ready to strike. “_ Yaz _! That was a low blow, babe.” 

After tampering down her laughter, Yaz rolls over, pinning the blonde beneath her form. “Fine. Wanna prove to me you can hold on for longer?”

Josie wriggles, testing her wife’s purchase on her before giving in to the building heat at the apex of her thighs and the desire set freshly alight in Yaz's pupils. “Challenge accepted.”


	13. isolation pt.1 (M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shoutout to (the cult--) gee, finn, caitlin and joli for help with this chapter, you literally might as well have written it yourselves <3333
> 
> enjoy some quarantine shenanigans with the fam!!!

Josie grumbles her disagreement when Yaz peels herself from her arms to sit up, feet settling against plush carpet seconds before she moves to stand. “Babe, you’re not even going anywhere today, why are you up so — nowitscoldcomebacktobed.” 

“Just because I’m not at work, it doesn’t mean I’m going to start falling into your lazy routine,” Yaz comments playfully, reaching back to peel a lock of blonde hair from where it has moulded and indented against her wife’s cheek in her sleep. “I’ve got to get some exercise in this morning since the gym is closed.” 

“Ugh, you’re so —” Josie finishes the sentence with a groan and a huff, swatting at her hand with half-lidded eyes. 

Through laughter, Yaz regards her with a smirk. “What, baby?”

“_ Healthy _,” Josie grumbles low in her throat, fixing her with an expressive pout. She murmurs the word as if it has personally offended her, and as Yaz heads to the other side of the bed for a change of clothes, her wife’s arms wind tight and unyielding around her hips. “Come back to bed,” Josie sing-songs against her thin pyjama t-shirt, hands slinking beneath only to find warm, smooth skin. “Please.”

“Come _ on _, Josie,” Yaz laughs, curling her fingers through Josie’s hair and scratching against her scalp in the way she knows makes her putty in seconds. It works, as always. “I have an online lecture to do from eleven ‘til one and I’ve got to fit this in before the kids are up or I’ll never get anything done.” 

“That’s ages away,” Josie argues weakly, squeezing tighter even while Yaz shakes her head. 

“_ Josie, _” Yaz hums matter-of-factly, arching a brow when Josie immediately glances up with slightly dilated pupils. “Come on, baby. I’ll make it up to you later.” 

“_ Hmph _ , fine,” Josie sighs as though her decision wasn’t made the second Yaz looked at her like _ that _. “But I’m not making you breakfast”

“Yeah, you will,” Yaz teases, drawing away when Josie flops back against the sheets, propping herself up on her elbow as she begins to change into leggings and a purple tank top.

“Yeah, I will,” Josie purrs, unashamed in her admiration for Yaz’s physique. “I’ll make you breakfast so hard.”

“Josie!” Yaz snorts out a laugh, mid-way through sweeping her leggings up her thighs. “I can’t believe I married such a perv.”

“All the warning signs were there, babe. Besides, have you _ seen _yourself? You’re hot. Perving is permitted.” 

“That’s not how it work— fine, so be it.” With a roll of her eyes, Yaz drops a kiss to her sleep-grumpy wife’s forehead and jogs from the room before she can stop her.

She’s ten sit-ups into the day when Josie finds her, navigating like a magnet towards the kettle in the adjoining kitchen and uncaring of her bed hair and dishevelled features. 

Counting under her breath, Yaz switches position to continue on to a series of press-ups, warmth already spreading down the back of her neck and her chest. She changes it up to long-standing planks in between when she finds she isn’t working hard enough. 

Mugs sat well-forgotten, Josie works hard to keep her jaw falling slack while she watches on, gaze trawling from the tips of her toes to toned calves and thighs, up to an exquisite backside and along to working back muscles and biceps. The junction of her shoulder and back shifts with each movement, and, _ god _, she’d love to just drag her tongue along it in a lazy caress. 

“Perv,” Yaz gasps before her last press-up, but there’s a smirk on her face when she shifts into a yoga move instead. “You’re catching flies,” she notes as she pitches forward into a downward-dog position, hips high and legs straight. 

Josie’s head tilts in open approval of Yaz’s raised backside, hugged tight by sleek grey leggings. “Just checking for safety hazards.”

“_ You _ are a safety hazard, babe,” Yaz counters breathlessly, shifting onto her knees and spreading her arms in front of her when she drops her head to the mat, stretching out her shoulders. 

By the time she’s moved onto the pull-up bar, Josie is extremely regretful she hadn’t managed to keep her in bed this morning. With every rep, Yaz’s biceps work and her stomach muscles twist and flex, drawing her mind back to two nights ago when she’d angled her hips _ just _right and —

“Morning, mum! And Mam!” their twelve year old chimes on the way to the cupboard for a bowl of cereal, disrupting Josie from her thoughts and dragging her back to the present. Rusty follows close behind, slipping through the open back door and into the garden to stretch his legs and do his business. 

The kettle is suddenly _ very _interesting and Josie hurriedly works to put together a mug of coffee for herself and tea for her wife, focusing on the task at hand to keep the thrumming pulse in her neck and the apex of her thighs at bay. 

“Thanks, babe,” Yaz croons as she passes to collect her finished beverage, brushing a hand against her bare hip where her sweatshirt rode up in her sleep and she hadn’t bothered to fix it. Josie doesn’t have to look to tell she’s smirking. 

“Mum, can I join in for the rest?” Wren murmurs around a mouthful of cereal, leg bouncing against her stool with restless energy. “Can we do it in the garden? Then we can make mam grumpy again with a game of pig in the middle.”

Wren’s snort of laughter only heightens when Josie glares over the edge of her mug. “It’s you two who’ll go hungry when I only make enough dinner for me and Robin.”

“_ Oof _,” Yaz hisses in a breath through her teeth, rounding to her daughter’s side so she can tousle her long blonde locks. “Sure you wanna risk it, sweetheart?” 

Without looking up from her cereal, Wren grins. “Of course.” 

* * *

Josie leaves her wife and daughter to it when they start a series of jumping jacks and jogging on the spot on their sunny patio, nabbing a biscuit or two as she pads upstairs to her son’s room. 

He’s still sprawled beneath the sheets when she toes inside, peeling back the curtains and leaving his window ajar to a chorus of sleepy grumbles and huffs. “Morning, honey. Time to face the day.”

A mumbled _ no _ melts against Robin’s pillow seconds before he shifts, rolling away from the light streaming in from the high sun.

“I feel that, buddy, but come on.” 

“Sleep,” Robin sighs, closing his eyes and tucking his sheets closer with small fists. The pale pink of his bedroom walls does nothing to assist his attempts to find darkness — picked out enthusiastically by him when they’d decided to redecorate. He’s never regretted it until now. 

“Don’t you want to sabotage Yaz and your big sister?”

Now _ that _ garners his attention, and with a bit of shuffling, he slips from the bed and raises his arms in askance. 

With a scoff, Josie props him up against her hip. “You’re getting a bit big for this, mate.”

Scrunching his nose, he closes a fist against her t-shirt and glances out of the window, letting her know he doesn’t approve of the pet name anymore. He tends to prefer _ honey _ or _ sweetheart _ , so Josie makes a note to reign _ mate _ in for now. “Sabot-age?” he mumbles, lips curling into a smirk which matches Yaz’s perfectly. 

When Josie glances down, she finds Wren giggling from atop Yaz’s back while she strains through another round of continuous press-ups. From the corner of her eye, she spots a glassful of water sitting on Robin’s dresser. “Can you grab your water, Robin? They look a bit sweaty, don’t they?”

Robin’s eyes alight with realisation and he _ squeals, _fetching the glass and handing it over. “Do it, mam.” 

Beneath them, Yaz and Wren are doused in a cold stream. 

“Josie, I am going to _ kill —” _ Yaz pauses mid-sentence when she spots Robin’s sleep-dishevelled features and laughing face. She lifts a hand to wave, smiling despite herself when he grins back. “Oh — morning, Robbie! Up before lunchtime? Congrats!”

Robin is still giggling when they reappear downstairs. The second he’s set down he is all over Rusty like a bad smell.

“Did you see mum doing press-ups with me on her back? That was so cool.” Wren probes breathlessly, still jogging on her toes while Yaz fetches a fresh glass of ice-cold water. Her hair is dampened and Josie’s little prank has soaked through her top, so when she sidles over to loop her arms around her in a hug, Josie jumps away with a squeak. 

“Oh, no, don’t you _ dare—” _

“What’s up, babe? I just want a hug,” Yaz takes another step forward, the ends of her hair dripping to the floor and leaving a trail as she closes in on her wife. 

“Yaz! Stop, you’re all _ wet.” _

She only gets an arched brow for that, and a slow-growing smirk. 

Before she can close the remaining distance, Josie makes a run for the garden. The trampoline is her goal, but seconds before she reaches it strong arms sweep around her waist and to the delighted squeals of their kids, Yaz tackles her playfully into the freshly-cut grass. 

“Gotcha,” Yaz crows, sweaty and damp but beaming as she crushes her wife in a hug. “Hey, kids! What are you waiting for?”

“Do _ not _—” 

“Pile on!” 

Winded and buried beneath an entanglement of limbs, Josie can only slump with a groan. “You guys are so mean—” 

The end of her sentence is lost when, excitedly and unashamedly, Rusty pounces over to lap and lick and drool over her face. 

* * *

“Morning, guys! I hope you’re all keeping well,” Yaz chimes to her laptop screen, settled at her desk a short time later and readying herself to deliver a two-hour lecture. She takes a sip of water and sits back to allow her class five minutes to catch up with each other, focusing instead on a series of frames littering her desk just in sight of her webcam which feature Wren and Robin through the years. 

She’s brought out of her reverie by the distinct voice of one of her most boisterous but well-meaning students, a smirk on their face. “Yaz, is that _ grass _in your hair?” 

“Uh —” She sweeps a hand up to dislodge a piece of grass and a small leaf, brushing them aside casually. “Ollie, is that a _ five-minute presentation _ up your sleeve?” she calls back, arching a brow and folding her arms. “Because I’d love to hear it.” 

“Ollie, mate, you need to stop doing that,” comes a chorus of individuals just as the curly-haired blonde groans in disapproval and Yaz hides a chuckle against her palm. 

* * *

“So, in order to make the essay flow properly, what do we need, guys?” Yaz quips sometime later, impressed by how well her students are responding. They really _ must _ be bored if they’re actively engaging this much. 

Before anyone has a chance to reply, though, there’s a knock at the door and Wren’s sheepish features come into view. “Mum?”

Yaz reaches out to turn her microphone volume down first, then turn towards her fidgetting daughter with a small frown. “Yeah?”

“How do you get a cranberry juice stain out of the carpet?” Wren asks in one long breath, features creasing into a guilty grimace. 

Yaz resists the urge to sigh, tilting her head. “How did you even manage— can’t you get your mam to help?”

“Uh, so, that’s the thing—” Wren waffles, raising her hands to gesture. “It was Mam who spilt it.”

Yaz’s eyes momentarily close in exasperation. “Of course she did. I’ll help once I’m done here, okay? And you’re definitely allowed to tell your mother she’s a dumbass, but _ just _ this once, alright?”

“You’re the best,” Wren beams, shutting the door behind her and skidding across the landing to charge down the stairs. 

In the distance, she hears her daughter yell _ “ _Mam, guess what?” before she turns back to her laptop. 

“Sorry, guys. That was my daughter,” Yaz supplies, making a mental note to google ways to get rid of stubborn stains while she recollects herself. “Right, where were we?” 

“She’s really cute, Yaz,” one of her students’ pipes up, leaving Yaz to smile down at her keyboard for a moment or two. 

“Thanks, Erin. Just don’t tell her that. Her head’s already big enough,” Yaz replies back, earning a round of stifled laughter. 

From outside her window, in the garden below, Josie’s frustrated words are heard by her only. “Yaz, Wren called me a dumbass!” There's a beat where her foot stamps against the stone patio. “Apparently _ you _ said she could!” 

  
  


* * *

She’s almost reached the end of her lecture when another knock falls against the door, this one quieter. She readies herself for another interruption from her daughter before Josie pops her head around the door and bears her a sheepish smile, stepping into the room with a full tray. “I made you some lunch.”

Taken aback by pleasant surprise, Yaz simply blinks at her for a moment, lips parted around empty words. “Oh.”

“Hiya, guys! Hope she’s not working you too hard,” Josie quips to her bemused students, slinking over to the desk to set the tray down. Amongst a fruit cocktail, there’s an overfilled sandwich and a glass of fresh apple juice. “From the tree in the garden,” Josie notes with a flush to her cheeks when Yaz takes a sip, pausing to consider for a moment. “Let’s just hope Rusty didn’t pee on it. I probably should’ve checked, shouldn’t I?” 

When all she gets is a muted baulk, Josie backs up with a scrunch to her nose, hiding her amusement. “Anyway, enjoy! See you guys!” 

“Bye, legend,” Ollie enthuses through a fit of laughter. 

The door clicks shut and Yaz turns back with pink cheeks and a flustered grin. 

“She has a _ wife? _ ” she hears a couple of her students; two girls living in the same house, whispering between themselves. Instead of poking fun, though, they almost sound _ impressed _, if a little jealous. 

Yaz has to hide her smile, rubbing a hand over her face and recovering quickly. “That was my wife, Josie, sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. Can you bring her back?” Ollie and Emma murmur in unison, falling into familiar banter Yaz had always encouraged. “She sounds like way more fun. No offence.”

“A _ lot _ taken, thank you very much!”

“What does she do for a living?” Another student asks, genuinely intrigued. 

Figuring her lecture is never going to get back on track now, Yaz divulges them through a bite of her sandwich. “She’s an artist.” 

“Was expecting you to say circus performer, not gonna lie,” Ollie quips, “She’s got the energy for it.” 

“Ollie!” Yaz chides, but the thought has her laughing nonetheless. “She’s too lazy for that. She’s like a puppy. She sleeps in all the time and makes chaos from the minute she’s awake.” 

“How many kids do you have?”

“How long have you been married?”

Distantly, through laughter — _ “Who tops?” _

“Oh! Would you look at the time, guys! Time to finish here, I think.” 

To the protests of her students and her own beaming laughter, Yaz closes her laptop and finishes up her lunch with a view out the window. While Wren blows bubbles Robin and Rusty try and fail to catch, Josie hangs up their washing high enough to avoid puppy pee after one too many accidents taught them a lesson or two. 

Josie is in the kitchen by the time she makes it downstairs. Setting her tray down beside the sink, she closes the distance to curl her arms around her waist and furrow her brows at her. 

“What?” Josie queries through a mouthful of custard creams, crumbs tumbling down her chest. 

“Waiting for you to get your daily dose of diabetes before I can kiss you,” Yaz supplies with a hum, lips pulling into a faint grimace when, in her sudden hurry, the crumbs increase tenfold. 

“Mm, now you can. Mouth’s empty,” Josie quips matter-of-factly, opening her mouth wide as if she needs proof of it. 

“Wow, thanks, babe. I really needed to see that,” Yaz drawls but leans in anyway, chasing the sugar from her lips with her tongue. “Thanks for bringing me lunch, babe. That was really good of you,” she praises, delighting in the way Josie’s breath catches and she presses closer, slipping an arm low over her hips. “It was so good.”

“That’s — um — that’s cool,” Josie stammers, cheeks flushing. She leans into the next kiss without question, stepping back when Yaz gradually walks her into the counter like a feline with its prey. “Yaz,” she hisses when her lips move down to her neck to map out her pulse. “How— how good?”

“Mouthwatering,” Yaz supplies with no less than a growl, dropping her hands to her thighs and lifting her onto the counter in one smooth move. With a whine, her wife cradles the back of her head in her hands and drags her into a needy kiss which encroaches on her lungs and draws away all of her oxygen in one go. 

Slipping one hand down beneath her rainbow-emblazoned t-shirt to seek out soft, supple flesh, Yaz pries her lips apart with her tongue and invades her mouth with a sigh usually reserved for coming home at the end of a long day. “Maybe — hmmf — maybe I should have stayed in bed with you this morning,” she admits when Josie laps at her tongue and nips at her bottom lip. 

“Not — not sayin’ I told you so,” Josie gasps between kisses, arching her back when Yaz’s hand drifts upwards. When her wife finds her braless beneath her top, they both moan lowly at the feeling. “But I told you so.”

Josie’s chest is heaving when a sure thumb brushes over her breast, catching at the rise of a swelling nub and making her hips jump. Yaz drops her free hand to her waist, then around to grasp her backside and drag her hips forward. “Fuck —”

“Yaz,” Josie gasps, unable to stop herself arching forward again, hips rolling. “The kids — they’re just— they’re just outside. We can’t.” 

“Never stopped us before,” Yaz purrs, mouthing at her jaw, her ear, her throat, then squeezing her backside. “I need you.”

“But I — _ hng _— Yaz,” Josie mumbles when her attentions move to the other breast, thumb grazing her nipple in a lazy motion. “I don’t want to rush it. I want to taste you. I want to feel you properly.”

Lashes fluttering, Yaz muffles a moan against her skin, dropping her forehead to her shoulder and dropping her hand to her wife’s thigh. As much as she needs her, right here, right now, she can wait if it means she gets to take her time with her later. “Promise we’ll continue this later?”

“Of course,” Josie pants gently, leaning in for a chaste kiss. “I always want you.” 

“You’re not helping,” Yaz huffs playfully, nipping at her bottom lip before she helps her down off the counter. “But — but me too.”

“C’mon,” Josie supplies, taking a moment to recompose before she reaches for Yaz’s hand. “They’ve gone suspiciously quiet. We should probably make sure they haven’t killed each other.” 

“Good point.”

* * *

There’s a bumblebee seeking nectar from a daisy to his right when Wren finds Robin sprawled out in the grass. On the lookout for butterflies, he barely registers her presence until she settles down beside him and pats his shoulder. “Hey, can you sit up for me for a second?”

Curious, he pulls himself up and reaches out to toy with the grass between his crossed ankles. Wren retrieves a small, colourful pot from her pocket which immediately catches his attention. He loves colourful things more than a magpie loves silver. “What’s that?”

“It’s mum’s nail varnish,” Wren announces, tilting her head to register the upturn of Robin’s lips and the delight in his eyes. It’s a shade of dark green which almost matches his teal dungarees. “Do you like it?” 

“Yeah!” he enthuses, trembling with excitement which Wren takes a keen interest in. He lunges for it without asking, because who needs to ask when there’s something interesting so close? “It’s pretty.”

Handing the varnish over after securing the top, Wren shuffles closer on grass-stained knees, her blue hoodie equally scruffy. “I don’t really like it anyway. I… _ borrowed _ it for you. It is pretty, though, right? You have good taste.”

Cheeks pinkening, Robin turns the bottle over in his hands and gives the liquid inside a small shake. When he holds it in the light, it glistens, but in the shade, it looks darker. 

Must be magic. 

“Here’s how it works,” Wren informs, reaching for one of his hands before plucking the bottle from his grasp and twisting the cap. Out comes what looks like a paintbrush, covered in the green liquid. He wonders how long it’s been there for since it’s so drenched in colour. 

“You want me to show you?” she questions before she begins, the brush hovering over his thumbnail. Thin brows pinched together, he nods, quick and firm. It’s going to be on his nails! 

After the first few strokes, his sister draws back so he can take in the sight. He can only gasp at the way it dries against his short nails, glossy and colourful and really green. His grin is fixed on his face now, and he eagerly offers up the rest of his hand. “Does it stay forever?”

Wren laughs. “Not really, no. Unless you top it up all the time,” she informs, tongue caught between her teeth as she concentrates. The rest comes quite easy thanks to Robin’s lax nature, even while his knee bounces with excitement. “But mum says that’s bad for your nails.”

“Bad,” he repeats, nodding, eyes glued to his nails. 

Wren’s focus leaves her quiet from then on, taking care and attention over every stroke with artists fingers. When she’s done, she has to hold his hands back to stop him smudging the liquid from his nails right away. “Hey, wait, you’ve got to let it dry first. Don’t touch, okay?”

“Why?” he probes, knitting his brows but unable to fight his grin off. He just wants to touch them, to see if it really is there to stay. 

“Because it’s wet. It’ll just smudge,” Wren argues, letting go slowly to ensure he listens to her instructions. Obediently, he doesn’t move his fingers other than to set them down against his legs. “Do you wanna find animals in the clouds while we wait?”

“Yeah!” Robin jeers, but his gaze refuses to lift from those pretty nails. 

* * *

“Have you seen Robin’s nails? I’m going to have to have a word with Wren tomorrow about borrowing my stuff without asking,” Yaz sighs as she heads towards the kettle, flicking it on with a flourish of her wrist. 

Leaning in the doorway to the conservatory and eyeing the bar set above her, Josie shrugs. “I think it suits him.”

“But you enjoy wearing a fez, babe,” Yaz drawls, folding her arms as she leans against the counter. “No offence.”

“None taken,” Josie retorts, reaching up to curl her fingers around the bars and test how secure it’s been set. “Fezzes are cool.” 

“It’ll bear your weight. You’re tiny,” Yaz reassures her as if reading her mind, eyes on the slither of skin exposed between her cropped jeans and paint-splattered t-shirt when Josie goes to lift herself up. 

She gets half-way through a pull-up before settling back on her feet with a huff, chest already heaving. “I think I’ll stick to biscuits.”

“Hey, hey, don’t give up so quick. Look— ” Yaz pads over, letting Josie step back before she reaches up and glances over her shoulder. “You can try jumping into it first and trying to hold yourself up. It doesn’t come straight away — everything takes practice. You know that.” 

As soon as Yaz starts showing her examples of different versions of pull-ups, Josie’s brain gives way to the resurging heat between her legs instead. She nods numbly as Yaz’s back muscles shift and tense and her arms pull taught. 

“Got it?” Yaz inquires as she drops herself down, standing back with her hands on her hips. Her stomach rises and falls with each breath and her neck and forehead glisten with a light sheen of sweat and Josie is absolutely melting on the spot. 

That’s her _wife_. 

“Yeah, think so,” she mumbles through a dry mouth, lifting her arms up and working to steady her pulse. Yaz steps behind her, hands coming to rest against her waist to assist her when she makes another attempt. 

She manages to hitch herself higher this time, if only by an inch, but only because Yaz all but _ lifts _ her up. 

“That was better!” Yaz encourages, words falling hot and fast on the back of her neck and _ far _too close for Josie to be blamed for her hitch in breath. “Do you wanna give it another go for me?”

Oh, she’ll happily do _ anything _ for her if she says it in that encouraging but coy tone. Heck, she’d take her clothes off and run half a marathon if she asked her to. 

“Uh — yeah, sure,” Josie manages, leaning into the action with no help this time. She manages to drive her biceps a little more, but it’s still a weak effort compared to Yaz’s easy, fluid motions. 

She settles back on her heels with a slow huff of air from her lungs, arms and stomach protesting, to find Yaz’s words melt against the back of her neck once more. She’s regretting having tied her hair up when goosebumps form instantly and visibly in the skin there. “See! You’re getting there. One more for me, baby?”

Because she’s putty in her hands right now, Josie nods and, breathlessly, pulls herself up once more. When she resettles with a grunt, Yaz is flush against her back, hands burning into her hips. “You did so well, Josie. That was so good.” 

“_ Nng— _Yaz,” Josie murmurs, trembling against her in an instant. When full lips mould against her shoulder, nudging her top aside to burn against her skin, she all but sags against her.

“I always forget how receptive you are,” Yaz purrs against her skin, pulling back to tut when Josie’s arms fall back to her sides. “Uh-uh, arms up. Keep your hands on the bar, babe.”

Without thought, her hands return to the cool metal surface, even while her whole body continues to shiver and tremble.  
  


A warm hand dips beneath her top, sliding up her stomach and stopping just short of her chest. “I’m beginning to enjoy having to stay at home if it means you never wear a bra.” 

Josie simply whines, arching into her hand, needing more, searching for _ some _ kind of stimulation to accompany her silky smooth voice. “Yaz, please.”

“Please what?” Yaz hums, lips against the base of her throat, where she sucks and nips at soft, unblemished flesh. 

“Touch me. _ God _, Yaz, please touch me,” Josie pleads, stomach muscles fluttering the second Yaz’s hand finds her breast. 

“You’re not usually this wound up,” Yaz half-laughs, taking pity on her and finally brushing her thumb over a wanting bud. “What’s gotten into you today?”

“Well, there was — _ ah _ —” Josie gasps when Yaz pinches lightly, brain going hazy. “This morning, then lunchtime, and then — then I had to spend all day watching you walk around and exercising and —” she pauses, reaching back to curl a hand around her legging-clad hip and draw her closer. “Wearing _ these _.” 

“Maybe I’ll wear them more often,” Yaz teases, slotting her hips against her wife’s backside and basking in the low hum she gets in response. 

“Sure, if you want to do double the washing every week because all my underwear will be ruined,” Josie bites back, earning a snort of laughter from behind her. She presses back with a keening groan when her free hand comes up to cup her other breast beneath the material, circling her nipple expertly. 

“You’re so needy,” Yaz whispers against the curve of her ear, catching it between her lips and biting down. “I bet you’re soaked.” 

Josie’s answering moan is stifled against her arm, cheeks pink and burning. 

“You are, aren’t you?” Yaz smirks against her ear, turning her head so she can nip at her bottom lip and meet her gaze when she murmurs her next words. “Mind if I check?"

“_ Please,” _Josie gasps, parting her lips in an effort to seek out her own. Yaz meets her halfway despite the awkward angle, lapping her tongue into her mouth in an instant to ravage her of the remainder of her thought processes. 

“Good girl,” she whispers when she pulls back, pupils dilated and chest heaving. She pads around to face her before sinking to her knees, holding her gaze throughout. “I’m going to taste you now.”

“Fuck, yes,” Josie whimpers, her aching grip on the bar above her faltering until Yaz fixes her with a warning glare. “I’ll — I’ll keep my arms up. Promise. Please, I need you.” 

“Good, because you’re going to need to hold on,” Yaz purrs, hooking her fingers through her fly, unzipping it and letting them fall from her lithe hips. Her underwear is soon to follow, a perfect little damp patch visible when she peels them down and casts them aside. 

She wastes no time getting to work, tongue hot and slick as it traces her from her entrance to her swollen clit. Yaz can’t help but moan when wetness finds her tongue in an instant. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

Not trusting her words right now, Josie jerks clumsily against her slow exploration, hooking a leg over her shoulder for an angle Yaz _ knows _ she loves. “Please. M’not gonna last.”

“Well, when you ask so nicely...” Yaz drawls, nosing at the inside of her thigh before she grips the swell of her backside and buries her tongue between her legs. 

Josie’s echoing cry is loud enough to wake the whole house, but at this point, Yaz doesn’t care. Dedicating herself to her wife’s pleasure, she laps and sucks at her clit while her hand slips down her thigh to curl a finger past her entrance and trace her name against her walls, over and over and over again. 

To a chorus of ‘_ Yes’s _ and ‘ _ oh _’s, Yaz laves her tongue in slow swathes against her clit, then dances it around the swollen bud, finding the nooks and uncared for corners in which to map out her pleasure. 

She can tell when she’s getting closer, hips twitching and rolling forward for more while her moans turn breathier. She swirls a second finger at her entrance until a smooth roll of her hips takes it inside in one fluid motion, the slick sounds of her arousal making Yaz’s mind reel. “Oh, fuck.”

With a whimper, Josie’s toes begin to curl and her hands tremble against their hold, forearms flexing with each shivering movement. “Yaz — Yaz, I’m —” 

“Hold it,” Yaz commands against her clit, panting breaths falling hard and fast against the sensitive skin and doing nothing to help tame Josie’s impending release. 

“Wh— what — but —” Josie stammers, hips kicking, arms burning. She makes a confused little noise at the back of her throat when Yaz pulls away to stand, licking her fingers clean before she reaches for Josie’s arms. 

They burn and tense and ache like hell when Josie finally lets go, still twitching with unattended need. She blinks hazy eyes open in time to see Yaz leaning in to capture her lips, moulding to her as she returns it eagerly. “Yaz — I need —” 

“Shh, baby, I know,” Yaz whispers softly, cupping her cheek when she pulls back. “But I want you in bed.”

* * *

Josie’s back hits the mattress with a faint wheeze, well-used springs shouting their protest. Stripped bar a harness, Yaz sinks between her legs and frames her face with one hand while the other lines up the toy with Josie’s entrance. 

She sinks inside with ease, propping herself up on her elbows so Josie can watch the subtle flex of stomach muscles when she starts to move. 

Josie clings at strong shoulders, tipping her head back to allow Yaz access to her neck and chest. 

A short time later, greedily, Yaz latches onto her breast while she works her hips, snapping them forward at the same time as she grazes her teeth over a swollen bud and sending Josie jerking beneath her. 

“Yaz, Yaz, _ Yaz, _” Josie chants, hitching her thighs high over her hips as she desperately holds back. “I’m close.”

Yaz groans as each thrust catches her clit at the perfect angle, increasing her efforts when Josie begins tightening around the toy. 

“Let go,” she whispers hoarsely, hips jerking clumsily against her as she chases her own fast approaching orgasm. “Please, baby.”

Josie crests with a cry, face buried against Yaz’s shoulder as she trembles through her orgasm. Still seeking her own, Yaz continues to rock into her, scrabbling at her hips and her thighs while she pants breathlessly against her neck. 

“I’ve got you,” Josie whispers lazily, curling her fingers through Yaz’s hair and tugging until she can crash their lips together. “Come for me,” she commands between kisses, whimpering against her lips when another, smaller orgasm befalls her. “I know you can.”

With one last, clumsy thrust, Yaz drops her head against her wife’s shoulder and whimpers out against her skin, letting Josie hold her against her own heaving form until the last ripples of pleasure sink into her muscles and leave her slumped in exhaustion. 

Half of her doesn’t want Yaz to pull back from between her legs, her thighs still hooked over her hips and her arms slung lazily around her waist. When she does, it’s with a slick sound, and the toy is cast towards their en suite by an aching, tired limb. 

“Holy shit, I think I’m getting too old for this,” Josie murmurs groggily when Yaz settles back down beside her, opening up an arm so she can sink in against her side. “Everything aches.”

  
Yaz’s eyes are sincere when they seek her out, a hint of guilt in her tone. “Good ache though, right?”

“Oh, _ definitely _,” Josie drawls, leaning in to pepper her face in tired kisses. “Just don’t think I’ll be able to walk tomorrow, that’s all.”

Yaz’s smirk is proud despite her wife’s affectionate kisses. “Still got it.” 

“Shut up.”


	14. isolation pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> back again!!! and thank you AGAIN to gee, caitlin and finn for your wonderful brains while i just resigned to writing it

“If you move, he’s going to run through the house with it in his mouth,” Josie informs her wife from where she’s crouched at the end of their bed, surveying a plan of attack. 

“And if I  _ don’t _ ?” Yaz asks, strangled, as she toes closer to their two year old retriever. Never has he lived up to his breed more than in this moment. 

Josie grimaces, making a mental note to  _ thoroughly _ disinfect it once they’ve managed to pry it from Rusty’s mouth. “He’s probably just going to do it anyway.”

“Rusty?” Yaz says gently, reaching out a tentative hand while the golden retriever glances between her and the phallic object and back. “Rusty,  _ drop it _ .”

Other than crooking his ear, Rusty does nothing of the sort, rooted to the spot and clearly waiting for Yaz to get close enough. 

When she lunges, he  _ scampers _ from the room with it still secure in his jaw, and both women turn with matching looks of pure horror. 

“RUSTY!”

* * *

“I can never unsee that,” Wren whines, nudging her cereal towards her brother and feigning nausea. “Is it possible to  _ delete _ recent memories yet?”

Robin blinks in surprise before digging into his extra helping of breakfast, hands first. Yaz winces. 

Josie, however, is painfully blasé about the whole thing. “Babe, we’ve apologised profusely already, and a healthy sex life is absolutely—” 

“Ohmygodimleavingthisfamilyforever,” Wren whispers as she skids through the door and jogs outside, hands firm over her ears. 

“Josie,” Yaz murmurs in a chiding tone, mouth set in a grimace. 

Josie turns to narrow her brows at her in question, lips parted in clueless surprise. “What did I do?”

* * *

“Robin, please don’t eat the grass,” Yaz warns for the third time since their decision to have lunch in the garden, surrounded by blankets. 

Suitably chided, Robin bears her a goofy grin and returns his attention to his half-eaten sandwich before Rusty can sneak in a bite. 

From atop the monkey bars, legs crossed, Wren showers biscuit crumbs to the grass below and tilts her head at Yaz and her little brother. In particular, she’s attuned to the way he constantly admires his painted nails even as he climbs into Yaz’s lap for a hug. 

“I can hear you thinking from here,” Josie murmurs from her perch in the adjoining swing, picking paint free from her blue denim dungarees. “What’s up?”

“Do you still have any of my old clothes? From when I was Robin’s age?” Wren quips, turning to the side to swing down from the climbing frame like a monkey. She lands on her feet, ignorant to Yaz’s flinch, and turns back to Josie with a tilt of her head. 

“I think so, yeah,” Josie replies, brows pinched in thought. “They’re in the attic, though. Why?” 

“I think I might go through them and pick out some materials so you could make one of those cool denim jackets for me again,” she replies hopefully, lashes fluttering. “I really liked my last one. It wasn’t my fault the iron burnt through it.”

“Sweetheart, you tried to iron a bag of sweets into it.” Josie laughs, kicking her feet out to swing forward. “Then a chocolate bar. We had to buy a new iron.”

“Easy access!” Wren protests, hands raised in motion. “And I love snacks.”

“Me too,” Josie agrees, slipping from the swing to stand. Double checking that Yaz isn’t looking in their direction, she turns to her daughter in a conspiratory fashion. “C’mere.”

“What are you — oh,  _ nice,” _ Wren pauses when she reaches into the pocket of her dungarees and retrieves a handful of jelly babies. “My favourite.”

“I know,” Josie supplies, features softening. Like mother, like daughter. “Just don’t tell your mother, okay?”

“If you promise to make me another jacket?”

With a fond roll of her eyes, Josie reaches out to shake her hand. “It’s a deal.”

Wren beams through a mouthful of sweets. “Pleasure doing business.”

Padding over to her side, Rusty nudges his nose against her palm with a faint huff, a tennis ball falling pointedly to her feet. Wren scoops it up and casts it towards the other side of the garden, initiating the start of an arduous game of fetch which Josie joins in eagerly. 

“It’s actually quite nice, really,” Wren starts between turns throwing the ball. “Having mum home all the time for once — all of us getting to hang out together like it’s the summer holidays.” 

“Yeah?” Josie counters, pretending to throw the tennis ball just to see Rusty look around wildly and make her daughter laugh. Yaz watches on, oblivious, with Robin sitting comfortably in her lap feeding her grapes from a box. 

She goes to playfully bite down on his fingers with the next piece of fruit and his squealing laughter coaxes a smile which puts the spring sunshine to shame. 

“I think so too,” Josie finishes, too caught up in the curl of full lips to notice the golden retriever charging for the ball still held in her hand. 

Wren is too busy laughing at the prospect of the following few seconds of destruction to warn her of her impending attack. 

“Hey, what’s so fun—  _ oof!”  _ In a mess of limbs, Josie Smith-Khan gets knocked to the grass for the second time in the last two days. 

  
  


* * *

“Ow,” Josie hisses, perched on the countertop while Yaz takes a look at her scuffed palms and elbows. “That stings, Yaz.”

“Honestly,” Yaz sighs out her exasperation as she passes a wipe over her wife’s war wounds, “It’s like taking care of three kids every day. Hand out, please.”

Josie catches her bottom lip between her teeth, hissing when antibacterial liquid drizzles over the deepest of gashes. 

“First you let Rusty push you over, then you challenge Wren to a monkey bar competition until you  _ both _ end up with blisters,” Yaz lists, interrupting any interjections by continuing on. “ _ Then _ , you climb the wall and jump onto the trampoline  _ just _ because Wren told you you wouldn’t make it.” 

By the time she next glances up from a slightly bloodied palm — her right, luckily, since she’s left handed — Josie’s features are crestfallen, puppy-dog eyes barely lifting from her lightly swinging legs. “You’re not  _ actually _ mad at me, are you?” 

“Josie,” Yaz sighs, tipping up her chin and shaking her head in fond irritation. “Baby, no. Just…  _ try _ and be more careful, okay? I don’t like seeing you hurt and I  _ really _ don’t want these talented hands damaged.” 

“Talented hands?” Josie repeats, tilting her head and quelling a smirk. Her eyes are a little less watery, though, so Yaz is simply relieved she’s got her back to normal. “Talented how?”

“You’re such a teenager,” Yaz drawls even as she settles between her legs, arms coming to loop around her middle. “I mean  _ talented _ because you’re an artist, love. The rest is just a bonus.”

“You’d think an artist would  _ thrive _ with all this spare time,” Josie pipes up a minute later, toying at the baby hairs at the back of Yaz’s neck while she holds her loosely against her. “But I just want to spend it all with you — with our family,” she continues, finding it easier to vent her frustrations when Yaz’s proud eyes are hidden over her shoulder. “I should be working, Yaz. I should have some motivation, I’ve tried everything.” 

“You can’t force it, Josie. You know that,” Yaz supplies softly, reaching up to card her fingers through wind-blown locks in a lazy caress. She starts at her scalp, working her nails featherlight against receptive skin until her wife sags forward with a hum. “Just stop thinking about it for a while, okay? Put any half-made stuff to the side until something springs to mind. Don’t even go  _ near _ your studio for a bit, okay?”

“Mm,” Josie mumbles her agreement, forehead resting against her shoulder. The hand in her hair is soothing in the best ways, delicate touches seeping reassurance and calm straight through to her bones. “I guess you’re right, yeah. Sorry ‘bout the sudden outburst,” she murmurs against her light sweater, dropping a hand to curl around the hem and catch a loose thread between her fingers. “Been on my mind for a bit.”

“Don’t apologise,” Yaz counters, drawing back if only to meet her slightly placid gaze. “I’m glad you told me. Better than bottling it up, right? ‘Cause I know you, and I know you’ll take it out on yourself otherwise.”

“Right,” Josie agrees with a firm nod, shoulders a little lighter. “Maybe I just needed to tell you for it to come back. It’s just weird, ‘cause you’re my muse. Thought having you home would make me paint like a mad lady.”

“Baby, you don’t have to paint to be a mad lady,” Yaz teases, pleased by Josie’s instant glare. 

“I’m  _ your _ mad lady, though.”

“That you are.”  


* * *

“Watch out, Robin,” Wren announces as she heads into her brother’s room, arms curled tight around a black bag full of old clothes. Obediently, he steps back, perching on the edge of his bed and tilting his head when she leaves, only to drag another one inside. 

“Your clothes?” he quips, taking a step forward before he clumsily sinks to his knees on his rainbow-patterned rug. 

“Yeah, mine,” Wren confirms, promptly loosening and opening the bag until RObin’s eyes are assaulted by colour. His features brighten immediately. “Told mam I was gonna pick some out anyway, so…I was wondering if you wanted to try any of them on. ” 

Shuffling forward on his knees, Robin reaches out for a light blue material dusted with sewn-on flowers. The dungaree-dress looks just his size, if a little loose for his petite form. “This.”

“Mam made that one,” Wren divulges, earning wide brown eyes and a grin from her curious brother. “I wore it when mum was still my teacher at school — where they first met.” 

Settling back on his haunches, Robin flaps the item about a bit before letting out a faint, impatient whine. It’s much more exciting than his usual clothes, not to mention prettier. “Help me wear it?”

“‘Course,” Wren quips with a blossoming smile. Perhaps she can find a home for her old clothes after all. 

* * *

Josie and Yaz are readying dinner when Wren pads down the stairs, humming a catchy tune from the speaker set up in the corner. 

Oblivious to her arrival, Josie catches Yaz’s waist on the way past and gives her a lazy twirl before slipping into her own very unique dance moves. 

Wren thinks she called it the  _ drunk giraffe _ , but that would require thinking about it even more, and that is  _ not _ what she wants to do when the monstrosity is already happening before her eyes. “Mam, please stop.” 

Josie pauses only to change direction, heading straight for her eldest with a glinting grin. “What’s up, Wren? Can’t handle your mother’s natural flair for danc—” 

“Oh my  _ God _ ,” Wren counters, backing up and up until Josie grasps lightly at her wrist and twirls her under her arm. “Aren’t there, like,  _ police _ who can arrest you for disrespecting dancing this much?” 

Ignoring her, Josie simply reels back to her wife, and then they’re  _ both _ at it, even if Yaz has better moves.

Not that she doesn’t want the floor to open up beneath her feet anyway. 

“Dancing!” Robin squeaks as he pads down the stairs, hand on the rail and dress loose around his frame. “Are we dancing?”

“Yes we  _ are,  _ Robbie!” Josie announces on her way over to scoop him up, taking his hand so to teach him jazz hands with one of her own. “Nice dress, by the way. I think you’re rocking it better than Wren used to.” 

Wren’s pout is audible despite the pride in her chest when her mother takes to the outfit so quickly. Even Yaz seems more concerned with dinner than the outfit Robin has picked out, not that she should be. Her brother looks like he’s in his element. “Hey! I think I wore it well, considering.”

Josie narrows her eyes, Robin’s hands on her necklace. “ _ Considering?” _

“There’s a reason I only wore it twice, mam.”

“Rowan Khan-Smith! No dessert for you. Did you hear that, Robin? Maybe I’ll make you another one just like it just to spite her.”

Rolling her eyes, Wren sidles up beside Yaz and opens her hands to accept ingredients she can help prepare.

“Thanks for letting him have your old stuff, sweetheart.”

“Thanks for understanding,” Wren quips back, meeting her gaze when her mother glances at her in question. Any answers she’s looking for are found in deep green eyes and she nods, silently, making a mental note to keep these hints in mind from now on.

“Sometimes, Wren, I think you’re more perceptive than even the best of people.” 

“All in a day’s work, mum,” she recounts with a smirk, clapping her hands together. “All in a day’s work.”

* * *

Yaz has her laptop set up at the kitchen table with her parents on a video call by the time Josie finishes washing up after dinner. Although there’s not much to update them on, it’s nice to hear their voices, especially for Wren and Robin. 

Perched in Yaz’s lap, Robin waves and grins at the screen while his sister slips into the chair at his side. 

_ How are the online classes coming along, Yaz?  _ Hakim asks not without a hint of pride — for Yaz’s relatively new position or the fact they’d even been able to work the webcam, she’s not sure. 

“Not too bad, actually! I think I’m going to have to use Rusty if I want them to keep motivated, though,” Yaz surmises, glancing over her shoulder when Josie pads over and slips into the empty chair at her side. 

“Hey, mum, dad,” Josie greets with a wave, opening her arms to Robin when he starts wriggling in Yaz’s lap. He climbs over and settles against her and she doesn’t mind the fact she’ll probably lose feeling in her legs soon enough. 

_ Look at you, kids! You’re getting so big! _ Comes Najia’s voice, reading glasses settled over the bridge of her nose as she peers through the screen. 

“You act like we didn’t only see you a week ago, mum,” Yaz teases, a hand at her daughter’s back. “How’s being stuck indoors going for you guys? Do you need us to get you anything?” 

_ Your father still thinks this is all part of a — _

_ Conspiracy!  _ Hakim interrupts with a firm nod, earning him a laugh from Wren and Josie in unison and a roll of Yaz’s eyes. 

_ Which is utter rubbish, of course. But otherwise, we’re fine, bar some kitchen mishaps due,  _ ** _again_ ** _ , to your very bored father.  _

Wren leans forward on her elbows, tilting her head with an intrigued grin. “What’s the conspiracy, grandad?”

Backing her up, Josie beams. “Yeah, dad. I’d love to hear it.”

_See? I _**_told_**_ you they’d be interested. That’s why you’re my favourites, _Hakim jeers, matching Wren’s motions as he readies his theories. _So, first off, I’ve noticed a _**_lot_** _more pigeons about recently… _

Heaving a faux-exasperated sigh, Yaz flicks through the notepad at her side while Najia returns to her book, leaving the rest of their family to their lengthy, bonkers discussion. 

* * *

“You know, Hakim made some good points earlier,” Josie divulges, drawing her pyjama top over her head before reaching back to tie her hair up. “Especially the disappearing bees.” Her head tilts and her tongue flits out in thought as Yaz pads from the bathroom with a shake of her head. “Maybe this is all a conspiracy after all. I  _ love _ a conspiracy.”

“I’m not even going to humour you with a response to that, babe,” Yaz counters playfully, peeling back the sheets to climb into bed. “Did you hear what mum said about work? I might not even be back in September. She says it’s more likely to be November at least,” she continues, reaching up to nibble at the corner of her nail until Josie spares her a pointed look. 

When Yaz drops her hand, Josie is quick to settle beside her and interlink them, reaching for her book with her free hand. “That sucks, really, but we’re doing okay for money. There’s no need to worry about that, Yaz,” she offers by way of reassurance, relaxing back into her pillow when Yaz sinks into her side and nestles her cheek against her shoulder. “Once I’ve gotten through this stupid block, I can start sending off commissions rather than meeting the buyers in person.”

“You’ll get through it, I promise.” Yaz’s thumb skirts her knuckles in a soothing caress, gaze scanning the first few lines of the page and deciding  _ Frankenstein _ isn’t her ideal bedtime reading. “Who knows, you might have a sudden brainwave in the night — it’s happened plenty of times before.” 

“Mm,” Josie hums in agreement, dropping a kiss to her temple. “Hope so.”

Deciding there’s only so much she can do to persuade her, Yaz lets her eyes fall closed and sweeps an arm low around her wife’s stomach, fingers curled loosely in the material of her paint-splattered t-shirt. 

Josie only manages to read aloud the first two pages before Yaz’s breathing evens out and she sags against her in slumber. Quietening, she observes her features until her fingers ache with the need to capture them and scrawl them down — oh. 

Well,  _ now’s about time _ , she huffs to herself, reaching for her sketchbook from the bedside cabinet and silently pencilling out her wife's sleeping form. 

* * *

The sheets beside her are cold when she wakes, foggy eyes blinking through a haze to find her bed half-empty. With a confused little hum, she sniffs the air for burning or baking or cooking and finds only the faint scent of coffee. 

Music seems to be coming from the garden when she opens the window mid-way through brushing her teeth, and at her wife’s bedside, she finds her open sketchbook and an intricately detailed drawing of her sleeping features. 

She’s beaming when she nudges their bedroom window open to its full extent, leaning against the windowsill to find her wife — dressed down in a pair of dungarees and a sports bra, mid-way through painting their entire fence in rainbow colour. 

“Oh my  _ God, _ ” Yaz announces halfway to a laugh, catching the blonde’s attention over the sound of  _ Coldplay’s Greatest Hits _ . 

“Mornin’, Yaz!” Josie chimes back, grinning brighter than the rising sun despite the dark rings around her eyes. “What do you think? Too boring? Not bright enough?”

“I think —” Yaz props her chin in her palm, leaning against the windowsill. “I think you’re mad. How long have you been at this for?”

“Uh — three coffees,” Josie calls back, scrunching her paint-freckled nose and squinting in the sun and Yaz suddenly decides it’s downright  _ illegal _ for her to look so adorable this early in the morning. “So maybe an hour or four?” 

“An hour or four, of  _ course _ ,” she replies through laughter which makes Josie’s stomach flutter even after all this time. 

“Gonna come join me or shout from a window all day and annoy our neighbours?” the blonde teases, hand on her hip, paint dripping from her brush and seeping through weathered denim in her distracted state. 

Despite rolling her eyes, Yaz could never deny her. “I’ll bring the tea and biscuits.” 

When she approaches less than five minutes later, Josie all but swoons at the sight of a plate of biscuits, sweeping in to eagerly accept them. “Oh my God, I love you. You’re the  _ best, _ ” she sighs, pressing a firm kiss to her lips. 

“You talking to me or the custard creams, babe?” Yaz teases, settling the plate down beside two mugs of tea on their garden table. When Josie glances between her and the sweet treats with a genuinely thoughtful expression, she shakes her head. “Actually— don’t answer that.” 

“The biscuits, Yaz, always,” Josie responds anyway, cupping her wife’s cheek before she leans in… and promptly stuffs a custard cream past her lips. “Love you too, though, promise.” 

“I hate you,” Yaz grumbles around a mouthful, sweeping up a paintbrush and getting to work. 

Josie laughs after her, admiring the way her own, paint-clad clothes look on her wife’s form. “No, you don’t.” 


	15. isolation pt.3 (M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another update here bc i can't get back into my multichapter at the minute and i have lots and LOTS of uni work to get started on -- so this could possibly be the last time yall see an upload from me in a bit!!!
> 
> intellectual property copyright caitlin, finn, gee and the cult for their constant ideas <3
> 
> tw: coming out (?) and discussions of sexuality

A wren flits its tiny, feathered form to the windowsill, singing a chirpy tune loud enough to filter through the open window and past yellow curtains. 

It’s also high-pitched enough to rouse Yaz from her slumber, and with a faint hum, she shifts from her sleeping wife’s arms to seek a cooler temperature. The way Josie wraps around her in the night is adorable and secure and makes her feel familiar gooeyness in her stomach even now, but the woman is also a _ human radiator _. 

Rolling over, she eyes the light seeping in through the windows and listens in to the birdsong for a few more blissful minutes. 

It’s only so long before Josie’s half-conscious form registers a distinct empty space between her arms and rouses with a grumble, shuffling up to steal the brief change in temperature back. “Why — mmng—” she tucks her nose against her neck and sighs. “Why are you awake?” 

Giving up on her search for proximity — and air, thanks to Josie’s clinging form, Yaz resettles with a hum. Her hand finds the nape of her wife’s neck and threads through the shorter, baby hairs to seek her scalp and massage gently. 

“There’s a wren on the windowsill,” Yaz replies, voice croaky with sleep. 

“Wren’s on the —” Josie startles immediately, clumsy and sleep-riddled as she sits up on high alert. “_ Wren’s on the windowsill _?” 

“No, oh my _ God _ ,” Yaz manages through laughter, reaching out for her wife’s waist and tackling her back into the mattress at her side. “ _ A _ wren, not _ our _ Wren, you dumbo.”

Josie’s cheeks are pink as she settles down, pouting under her wife’s unquelled amusement. 

Granted, she does crack a smile when Yaz’s laughter continues to fill their room, fatigue as well as the look on her face only encouraging her. 

“_ Ha-ha,” _ Josie crows, folding her arms and easing into an embarrassed smile. “It’s six in the morning, are you _ really _ expecting me to be fully awake at this time?” as though pointed, she presses a yawn against her elbow and sinks further into rich blue sheets. 

Yaz pats her forearm in empathy before dropping her cheek to her shoulder and crooking a thigh over her hip. “I think if I were a bird, I’d date that one. Or maybe a sparrow — they have great singing voices too,” she muses, taking note of Josie’s open scoff. 

“Think you need some more sleep too, Yaz,” Josie huffs, sweeping an arm low over her side, fingers tracing the solid curve of her hipbone.

“And I never heard you complaining about _ my _singing voice,” she adds in a whisper, but it’s enough to make Yaz glance up and find her pouting again. 

“Aw, babe,” she coos, leaning up to press her lips to the curve of her jaw, then her flushing cheek. “Don’t be jealous. You have a beautiful singing voice — you know I love it.”

When Yaz reaches her lips, offering a slow, lazy kiss, Josie softens beneath her, breathing a sigh as they come apart. 

The sheets are warm but the air surrounding their nestled bodies is cool, so it would be easy to give in to the hands of slumber again. 

And so she does — settled comfortably on the cusp of sleep until — 

“I think if you were a bird, you’d be a Common Shag,” Yaz whispers against the curve of her ear, on the very verge of bursting into laughter. 

Sleep can wait, Josie decides, as she sweeps her arms beneath her wife’s top and scratches at her ticklish sides until Yaz is squirming and there are tears in her eyes. “You’re the _ worst _.”

* * *

Some hours later, freshly sleep-doused as she slinks into the kitchen for her first cup of coffee, Josie ensures she turns the hot tap on full. In the bathroom above her, mid-way through a shower, Yaz squeaks as the water runs suddenly cold. 

By the time she pads downstairs, dark curls still drying, Josie is leaning against the counter with a smirk pressed against the curve of her mug. “If _ you _ were a bird, I think you’d be a Blue Tit, love.”

“I hate you,” Yaz drawls, rounding to her side to collect up her freshly brewed tea. 

“No, you don’t.”

With a faint glare, Yaz pads to the fridge and surveys its contents. “What d’you want me to make for breakfast, babe?” 

“_ Oh _,” Josie breathes under her breath, taking another sip of her coffee and swallowing. “I’ve already eaten.”

“Josie, biscuits do not count as _ breakfast _ ,” Yaz chides playfully, but Josie’s responding frown is audible. She turns from the half-stocked appliance to her wife with a knit to her brow, taking in the hand fidgeting and pulling at her tight-fitted tank top. She plucks her hand away and meets her gaze in earnest. “Wait — babe, none of that. As long as you’re eating _ something _, that’s fine. It’s okay.”

“Sorry,” Josie murmurs under her breath, eyes glued to the softness of her stomach which only her sweet tooth can be blamed for.

“Hey,” Yaz quips, lifting green eyes to hers in an instant. She settles a hand at her hip, thumb brushing over the soft slope of her tummy. “You’re beautiful, you know that, right?” 

Josie’s gaze lingers, searching for any doubt or deceit in an action on par with their first intimate interactions. 

At the same time, Yaz’s heart clenches and she tips her chin up for a gentle kiss. “Tell me you believe me, Josie.” 

“I do,” Josie insists, leaning into her kiss with a faint hum. By the time she pulls back, Yaz’s lashes are still half-closed and she basks in it. “I believe you.”

“Good, ‘cause you’re my wife, and you’re still just as gorgeous as when we first met,” Yaz divulges, reaching behind her with one hand to dip into the biscuit tin. Plucking two free, she pops one past Josie’s lips and bites into the other herself. “If not more so.”

Speaking through a mouthful, Josie slinks an arm around Yaz’s neck. “I love you,” she reminds her, crumbs galore. 

“Eurgh, _ babe _ ,” Yaz grumbles in complaint, dusting down her sweater and fixing her wife with a playful glare. “I love you too, even though you test me every _ single _ day.”

* * *

Yaz’s laptop _ pings _ with a new email come lunchtime, mid-way through marking an assignment she’d been successfully avoiding so far. The name catches her attention, though, and she jogs upstairs into their joint office room to set up for a spontaneous meeting. 

Remy Lawrence is one of her brightest, most ambitious mentees if a little quiet during lectures. So, when a sudden need for a catch-up comes through, Yaz is on high alert. 

“Hi, Remy!” she greats as soon as her image flits into existence, offering up a warm smile and keeping her posture lax to help put the young woman at ease. “How’re you doing? Hope your motivation hasn’t been affected too much by all this.”

“Hi, Yasmin,” replies her student’s shy voice, hands fidgeting on the wooden desk before her. There are posters in abundance over her walls but a neatness to her workspace which Yaz can only dream of. Her dark, silky curls are swept up in a messy bun like her own, and her youthful, olive-toned features display conflict as clear as day. “I’m not doing too bad, yeah. Most of my work’s done already, I’ve just got to finish up my dissertation and hear back about my master’s course.” 

“_ Yaz _ is fine, sweetheart,” the older woman implores, toying with the homemade bracelet curled around her wrist as she eyes the screen. “And that’s great! I wish I could steal some of your work ethic right now, having all this time off is making me go insane.”

When Remy only spares a distracted hum of laughter, Yaz inches forward, elbows coming to rest against her desk and chin dropping into open palms. “Was there something you wanted to talk to me about, in particular, Remy?”

“Yeah, there was — _ is _,” Remy affirms, her fidgeting hands reminding Yaz of her wife just before handing over a commission. “I wanted to ask — no, I wanted to know —” 

“Hey, hey, take your time,” Yaz prompts gently, sensing her distress. In the way Remy swallows and works to form the words in the right pattern, she can almost predict what the issue niggling at her delicate features might be. She won’t assume, though, so for now, she grants her the patience she may not find elsewhere. “Not like I’ve got any lectures to plan, huh?” 

She gets another stifled chuckle for her troubles, and Remy seems to lift her shoulders a little in courage and newfound confidence. “I wanted to ask for some advice, Yaz. About — um —”

Yaz folds her arms against the desk, leaning on her elbows still. She keeps quiet, tilting her head with an encouraging nod as if to say _ go on _ . _ You’ve got this. _

At the same time as the younger woman goes to speak again, there’s a light knock at the door and Josie sheepishly pokes her head around the frame. “Sorry to interrupt, but you forgot your tea. I didn’t want it to go cold, and I know you like tea when you’re trying to focus on something — but I can just—”

“Thanks, love,” Yaz interrupts before her wife can drown all the oxygen from the room to ramble it back out into the air. She accepts the mug she offers, the print _ number one mum _ scrawled in waterproof paint across its surface — indicative of Yaz’s first mother’s day all those years ago. “You’re the best.”

“No trouble. Hope your meeting’s going okay, I’ll be in the studio if you need me,” Josie offers in dismissal, granting her a shrug and a smile before turning back for the landing. 

There’s a moment of pause before Yaz hears telltale footsteps and Rusty ambles in to join her, quick to settle at her feet with his head against her knees. Dropping a hand to smooth her fingers against the crown of his head and behind his ears, out of sight of the camera, she returns her focus back on the screen. “Sorry about that, Remy. You were saying you wanted my advice on some—”

“I think — I’m pretty sure I’m bisexual, and I want to come out,” Remy interrupts as though it’s the only chance she’ll have the courage to say it; a leap of faith oh so familiar with her mentor. “To my family, now I’m living at home again. And I was —” she pauses, taking a breath. “I was hoping you could offer some advice?”

“I don’t want to presume — I really don’t — I just — I saw the way you interacted with your wife and it’s just —” Remy continues, fully giving over to her rambling. “It was really sweet. I want that, someday.” Then, her features crease with anxiety and she starts picking at her nails. “But I have to do this first.”

Emotion chipping away at her swelling heart, Yaz swallows back the lump in her throat and bares a warm smile to her screen. “First off; thanks for telling me, that’s really brave of you,” she emits gently, fingers clasping together around her mug. “Secondly; you shouldn’t pressure yourself into telling them right away, okay? Just let it come when you’re ready and you’re comfortable doing so.”

“Thank you.” Expression brightening slightly, renewed hope stirring to life in her dark eyes, Remy nods, cheeks pink. “Right, yeah. Totally. I think — I think I’m ready, though.”

“And that’s brilliant! That’s really great,” Yaz implores with a swift nod, the framed sketch in the corner of her desk briefly catching her attention. By the time she glances back to the monitor, she’s softened entirely, professional exterior washed away with the tide. “Would it help to know how I came out to my parents?”

Remy falters for a moment, regarding her in surprise. It turns to open admiration only a second later, and her shoulders relax with the shared weight of her dilemma. “Yeah, I think it would. If you don’t mind?”

“‘Course,” Yaz breathes empathetically, a nudge at her thigh drawing her hand back to Rusty’s ears. He slumps against her with a faint huff of air through his damp nose. 

“I wrote a letter, in the end,” she starts, tone wistful. “Surprisingly enough, I wasn’t actually great at wording stuff aloud back then, so I wrote it down instead, gave it to them had them read it together.” 

“Huh,” the younger woman hums in surprise, unconsciously reaching for a notepad nearby. “What did they — how did they react?” Again, she falters. “If you’re cool with telling me, that is.” 

“I’m one of the lucky ones, I think. They had their disputes and their doubts about it at the beginning, but they came around to it eventually,” she divulges, then tilts her head in question. “It’s not always easy at the start, but they’ll come around if they’re decent enough people. I can tell you that.”

Remy nods, lost in thought, allowing Yaz space to continue. “It’s a huge weight off your chest, too. You realise it doesn’t actually matter that much, because the world still spins the same. You’ve just got to take a leap of faith.”

“That’s —” the dark-haired young adult takes a breath, then exhales slow and steady; like a release. “That’s actually really helpful, thank you. I think I might try it.”

Yaz takes another sip of her lukewarm tea before tentatively voicing her only concern. “Remy — do you mind me asking how you think _ your _ parents will take it?” she broaches carefully, like approaching a tortured animal. “Y’know, ‘cause — well, I have a duty of care. I don’t want to be exposing you to any kind of danger from this — I know what people can be like.” 

“Oh, yeah,” she replies, granting Yaz a tentative smile which eases her worries somewhat. “Honestly? I think they’ll be fine; they’ve always supported me before, but, you know, there’s always that — that—” 

“That tiny voice at the back of your head which contradicts everything you think?” Yaz finishes for her, sympathy lacing every word. 

Remy laughs, but it’s light and amused in its tone. “Yeah.” 

“That’s absolutely normal,” Yaz emphasises with a polite smile. “I think we’d all be a bit insane without it.” 

When the quiet settles — not uncomfortable nor weighty, but relieved and somewhat comfortable — Remy’s voice draws Yaz from her triggered reminiscence. 

“Did your wife draw that?” she quips, and it’s easy to decipher what she’s referring to. 

Picking the framed drawing up, Yaz nods, unable to quell her proud smile. “She did, yeah. She’s an artist — and incredibly talented. I’m very lucky.”

“I think she is, too,” Remy notes not withholding a blush, “You’re a really great lecturer, Yaz. I’m gonna miss your teaching, not gonna lie.” 

Yaz clears her throat to chase another lump away, pupils glistening. “Thanks, Remy. That means a lot. You better stay in contact when you’re off doing your masters, though, okay? And please let me know how this all goes,” she implores with no lack of care, voice thick with an emotion akin to motherliness. “I’m always here if you need to talk.”

“Yeah, ‘course.” Remy nods, tucking a curl behind her ear and straightening up. “Thanks, again. You have no idea how much I needed to hear all that. And I will, I promise.” 

By the time both parties have finished up, Yaz’s mind is full of old memories, dredged up by the topic at hand and left to linger at the forefront. She takes a moment, stifling the waves of emotion caught and lodged in her throat until Rusty whines and nudges at her waist in a dog equivalent of a hug. 

“Thanks, buddy,” Yaz murmurs, offering up one more scratch behind his ears and under his chin, before she drags herself up from her chair and heads downstairs. 

Wren is sprawled over the couch with a book and Robin is animately watching the television at her side when she finds them in the main room, pausing on her quest to empty her half-filled mug. “Where’s your mam, guys?”

Wren must notice the slight strain to her voice when, instead of a sarcastic (undeniably funny) remark, she sits up and points towards the garden. “She’s in the studio.” Then, tentatively, “Mum, are you okay?”

“Yeah! Perfect, totally fine,” she implores despite Wren’s knowing, far-too-wise expression. “Just need to see her for a second, that’s all. You two alright in here?” 

“Just bored,” Wren replies with a dramatic huff, reaching out to nudge at Robin’s arm with her outstretched foot. He grabs at it with a giggle, scrunching his nose in a familiar fashion which only serves to encourage the overwhelmed lump in Yaz’s throat. “Can you ask mam if we can watch a film tonight?”

“Sure. I’ll be back in a sec,” she murmurs, offering her eldest a reassuring smile before turning for the garden. 

Josie is putting the finishing touches to a commissioned piece when Yaz slips past the open glass door, stepping onto varnished wood flooring and taking a moment to admire her at work. Unwitnessed as of yet, she observes the way her brows furrow in concentration until tracks form at the bridge of her nose. 

She’s in her element like this, tongue caught between pearly whites meaning she’s reaching the edge of the canvas and doesn’t want it to dribble onto the sides. 

Part of her doesn’t want to disturb her, but the other half screams for attention and comfort and arms to fall into. 

Quietly, she approaches her from across the room. 

It’s not until she’s a couple of inches from her easel that Josie finally looks up in recognition. Her paintbrush clatters to the littered table at her side when she takes in her expression; a paradoxical mix of pride, guilt and concern clear on display. “Yaz? What’s wrong?”

Before she can inevitably start fussing and fretting and reaching for her handmade sword to defend her wife’s honour, Yaz offers Josie a watery smile. “I’m fine, I’m alright. I just — can I have a hug?”

She doesn’t have to wait long before eager arms loop around her shoulders and all but drag her the remaining distance between them. If Josie is coated in paint, as usual, Yaz can’t find it in herself to care on this occasion. She slumps against her with a sigh, curling her arms around her waist and dropping her head to the crook of her neck to breathe her in and count the steady drumbeats of her pulse nearby. 

Josie’s hand gravitates to the base of her neck, curling through the strands and massaging faintly at the tension she finds there. “Did Wren steal your makeup again? Is that what’s wrong? I can have a word.”

Yaz shakes her head against her shoulder, squeezing closer when soft lips find her temple and take purchase there. “It’s nought to do with her.” 

Josie breathes a confused little _ hm _ against her forehead before she presses another kiss there, radiating warmth and comfort until Yaz has no way of holding back a shaky inhale. Her eyes close when hot tears seep through her wife’s thin shirt. 

At the sensation, Josie frowns, drawing her head back to seek her out. “Yaz? You’re crying. Hey, hey, you know I don’t like it when you cry. It always starts me off and then we’ll _ both _ be crying. We can’t both be crying, Yaz.”

She breathes the words so innocently and pleadingly that Yaz can’t help the teary giggle which melts against her shoulder. Josie’s confusion is audible. 

“One of my students, they —” Yaz starts, and Josie immediately thinks the worst despite her attempts not to. “They came out to me today.” 

Josie’s tone is one of relief when she relaxes against her again, beginning to gently sway them. “Oh.” 

“Yeah,” Yaz replies with a sniffle. 

“Was that the meeting you were having about earlier?” Josie questions, carding her fingers against her scalp once more. She loosens her hold when Yaz lifts her head, eyelids still heavy with tears. Josie kisses one away from the curve of her cheekbone. “God — I’m sorry for interrupting it. You should’ve said.”

“It’s okay, you didn’t know,” Yaz argues, leaning into the soft pressure of her wife’s lips. When they relocate to her forehead, she closes her eyes to accentuate the sensation. 

“Are they okay?” Josie asks next, genuine concern in her tone despite the fact she’s not once interacted with her student. But that’s Josie; her heart is far too big to be restrained in any sense of the word. “I know some people can find it really difficult.”

“She’s alright,” Yaz supplies, leaning into Josie’s touch when she drops a hand to brush her thumb under her eye. “She wanted some advice on how to come out to her parents, so I told her how I did.”

“Good ol’ letter, huh?” Josie tilts her head, her smile patient and warm and everything Yaz needs. 

“I’m impressed you remembered,” Yaz quips in return, earning narrowed hazel eyes but no rebuttal. She’s grateful for it when she recounts her earlier conversation and fresh tears sting at her eyes. “She told me I was a really good lecturer,” she mumbles, half a whisper. “Never been told that by a student before.”

Josie’s brows furrow further and she squeezes at her shoulders, tucking her closer again. “Just because they don’t tell you, it doesn’t mean they don’t think it. You know how students are — awkward and lazy and just wanting to get back to bed.”

“Mm,” Yaz hums in agreement, heart full. “I guess you’re right.”

“I am. You know what else I’m right about?” Josie chimes in a sing-song tone, lips pressed to the top of her head. “The fact you’re a wonderful teacher and lecturer and they’re extremely lucky to have you.” 

“Josie —” 

“And I am, too, for the record,” Josie interrupts even as Yaz draws back to argue. “I’m the luckiest woman on the planet,” she drawls, wetting her lips around a charming smirk. 

Yaz rolls her eyes, hands on her wife’s hips. “Shut up.” 

“Make me, Doctor Yasmin Khan,” Josie purrs, bumping her nose against Yaz’s own and laughing into the kiss her wife leads.

“You really like the whole _ doctor _ title, don’t you?” Yaz breathes into her mouth, sneaking a hand beneath her top to span her fingers over the small of her back. “It really does it for you.”

Josie hums like a pleased feline, thumb brushing the curve of her jaw to reel her in for a series of kisses.“Can’t help that my wife is really intelligent and smoking hot.”

“God, you’re obsessed with me,” Yaz crows, sinking in against her. 

“I would be if I were your student,” Josie purrs back, pupils glinting with something dark. 

“Oh, yeah?” Yaz hums, ducking her head to press her lips to her jaw, mapping the way to her pulse. “I bet you’d be the type to get your deadlines done a month in advance.” 

“I’d ask for _ extra _, babe,” Josie drawls, letting out a shaky exhale when Yaz presses flush against her at the same time as she laps her tongue against her pulse point. 

“Mm?” Yaz sweeps her hand up to follow the line of her bra towards her chest as she tastes her. “What a good gi—” 

“Mum!” Wren calls from just outside, but there’s enough glass panelling to make her rethink their next actions anyway. She drops her hands back to Josie’s hips in record time, peeling her lips away despite her wife’s feeble whine. 

“Oh,” Wren omits as she steps into view, grimacing at the sight of entangled arms and flushed cheeks. “Well, I was gonna say I’m hungry, but now I feel a bit sick.” 

Begrudgingly, Yaz draws away with a pat to Josie’s backside which only encourages Wren’s embarrassment. “Alright, let’s leave mam to it and make some lunch.”

Josie’s squeak is stifled unsuccessfully and, flushing, she fixes her wife with a glare on the way out. 

“How young is too young to move out?” she hears her daughter quip from outside a second later, then a surprised squeal and a faint huff. When she moves to the doorway, she spots Wren hoisted over her wife’s shoulder as she heads back inside. 

* * *

Mid-way through the afternoon, Yaz boots her laptop back up and sips at a glass of freshly made orange juice. She’s still scrawling down a handful of points to cover when her scheduled lecture begins and familiar faces flood to the screen. “Afternoon, guys. How’re you all doing?”

She offers up a secret smile to Remy as she joins, finding her grinning back with a thumbs up. An unknown weight lifts from her shoulders and she settles. 

_ “Can you bring your dog in again?” _ Ollie chimes from a room filled with posters and empty takeaway boxes. 

“Really?” Yaz laughs, narrowing her brows at the monitor. “I mean, I _ can _, but you all have to promise to still pay attention, okay?”

A chorus of agreement and cheering echoes from her laptop seconds before she nudges the door ajar and glances into the hallway. “Rusty! C’mere.”

Five minutes later, with her two-year-old retriever perched in her lap and rendering her legs numb, Yaz regrets her decision entirely. “Right; you guys ready to learn?”

_ “Does he know any cool tricks?” _

_ “Can you make him high-five?” _

_ “Does he bark on command?” _

“_ Guys _,” Yaz sighs, earning a clumsy, sloppy lick on the cheek from the puppy sat happily on her knees. “This isn’t a Q&A. We have work to do.”

A second later, she wilts. “Rusty, high five.” 

With an excited bark, he lifts a paw to tap at her open palm. 

_ “This is the best lecture ever,” _Remy divulges through a laugh. 

* * *

“So, if you want to show the best understanding and knowledge of the topic, you should be thinking of including at _ least _ thirty references for your final submission,” Yaz reels half an hour later in response to a question from a worried student fuelled entirely by energy drinks and coffee. “Any more ques—”

On the desktop, her mobile _ pings _ with a message from her wife, but it’s only after she’s opened it that she realises that it’s a voice message. Unknowingly, she presses play. 

_ “Hey, Yaz! Just finishing up at the shop — they didn’t have any custard creams so I’ve got a variety pack. Very exciting. Anyway, I was wondering if broccoli goes in a pakora? I can’t remember and Rusty ate the shopping list just before I left. Oh! And we’re probably going to be washing our underwear and the rest of our clothes in the sink from now on because Wren decided to pour paint into the washing machine. Hope the lecture’s going okay and that I didn’t interrupt. That would be really embarrassing. Back soon! Kisses!” _

She doesn’t have to look up from her mobile to know her class are in states of absolute hysterics, and with boiling cheeks and sweat lacing the back of her neck, she clears her throat. 

_ “ _Uh — how much of that did you guys hear?”

“_ Can you play it again, Yaz? Think we missed a bit.” _

“Nope. Never again. We’re not mentioning any of this outside of this call, right guys?” Yaz instructs with a grimace, shooting back a chiding text before returning her focus to her laptop. _“Right,_ guys_?”_

* * *

Wren is sprawled lazily over the trampoline when Yaz finds her, and her wife settled in the lush grass helping Robin to craft a daisy chain. “Rowan?”

The use of her given name, as well as the chiding tone to her voice, makes Wren startle, sitting up immediately. Her hair is mussed by the static clinging to the fibres beneath her, baby hairs caught in mid-air. 

“_ Paint? _ In the _ washing machine? _”

“Ah,” Wren hisses through a grimace, slumping back into the trampoline if only by means of escape. “But, mum, you should’ve _ seen _ it! It looked like a galaxy when I turned it on.”

Josie’s voice is coloured impressed rather than stern when she pipes in. “Wait — really?”

Yaz clears her throat, shooting her wife a warning glare. 

“I mean — that’s really bad, Wren. You’re in big trouble,” she corrects, forcing her expression into a frown which just assists in making her daughter crack up.

In a smaller voice, before Yaz can continue, Josie turns back to their eldest. “What colours did you use?”

Wren grins. “I took a video.”

“Oh! Can I see?” Josie jogs over with a gasp, hopping onto the edge of the apparatus and peering at Wren’s mobile. 

Yaz shakes her head, raising her hands in exasperation. “_ Josie _.”

At Wren’s side, Josie raises her awestruck grin from the video playing on repeat. “What?”

“Oh my _God_ — I’m taking Rusty for a walk.”

“Laters, babe. I can get dinner started while you’re out if you like?” Josie offers, lifting herself to stand and hobbling over the uneven surface. 

Yaz blinks through flashes of broken plates and melted plastic and small fires — and shakes her head with a flinch. “No, no, it’s okay. I can handle it. Rusty?” she calls, waiting for the mess of long golden hair to jog over with a wag to his tail which sends his back legs wriggling too. “Up for a walk?”

She earns a bark of agreement in an instant, and he jogs inside to fetch his lead from its usual spot. 

“Can I come?” Robin pipes up from her side, daisies tucked into dark, wavy locks and a pair of pale pink dungarees displaying his bright, but delicate persona. “I want to.”

“Of course, honey,” Yaz nods, turning back to the house. “C’mon, let’s find your shoes.” 

* * *

Rusty sticks close to Robin’s side as they head down the street, a protective, reliable presence in the open world. 

Each new flower arrangement and each freshly blooming plant and shrub captures Robin’s attention, a faint tug at Yaz’s hand coaxing her to pause to smell the flora. 

“This one’s my favourite,” he points out when they approach a gathering of pastel purple buds in full bloom, crouching slightly to take an eager inhale. 

“Yeah? You like lavender?” Yaz tilts her head, plucking a daisy from his fringe before it can fall into his eye. “That’s grandma’s favourite, too.”

“Wren said liking flowers and pink things and dresses was a girl thing,” he adds when they start walking again, breezing a hand along Rusty’s back and glancing up in question. “But she said it was cool that I did because she didn’t when she was little. Like I’m different.”

“You’re no different to anyone else, sweetheart,” Yaz informs him, reaching out a hand when they move to cross the road. Robin takes it gently, smaller fingers fitting between hers for security. “You’re free to like whatever you want, you know that.”

He makes a small _ hm _ below his breath, eyes on Rusty as he pads happily along with his tongue out and tail swishing. 

“In fact, I was thinking about practising some henna, later, if you want me to draw some pretty designs on your hands again?” she prompts, giving his hand a squeeze. 

His head springs up in an instant and he curls his free hand around Yaz’s, skipping the net handful of steps. “You will?” 

“Of course,” Yaz laughs at his evident enthusiasm, the rest of the walk spent with the three-year-old prancing happily beside her. 

* * *

“Okay, now can you keep still for me?” Yaz instructs after the last layer of the dark substance sinks against the olive skin at the palm of Robin’s hand, gentle swirls and intricate flowers dotting the surface. 

“Yeah,” Robin breathes in open awe, lips parted in a small _ oh _. 

“Your hair’s getting pretty long, now, huh?” she quips as she watches on, keeping an eye on his unmoving hands while her fingers sweep through her son’s glossy locks. “I could probably plait it soon.” 

From across the room, with a stripe of paint still gracing her cheek from an altercation with the washing machine earlier, Josie bares them an intrigued smile. “Are you guys doing henna? I _ love _ henna.”

“You can do mine, if you like,” Yaz offers, pulling the chair out beside her for her wife. There’s a bucket hat tucked onto her head; navy and rainbow-striped and pretty out of style if it were on anyone else. Somehow, she pulls it off. “You’re the best at it.” 

Josie shrugs off the compliment as she sits down, taking one of Yaz’s hands into her own, palm up, and delving straight in. 

There’s a sun, intricately filled with swirls and circles and tiny sunflowers, gracing the centre of her palm when Josie eventually allows her enough space to glance down. Stars follow the length of her fingertips, perfectly neat and perfectly spaced and — “Wow. Josie, this is amazing. You always impress me with this stuff.”

“Artists’ fingers, babe,” Josie drawls with mock-confidence, sitting back to admire her work. 

If there wasn’t a three year old so closeby, Yaz would make a comment about those fingers, but for now, she simply settles on a knowing smirk. “Do you want some henna, too?”

“Already done it,” Josie quips with a toothy grin and raised brows. When Yaz tilts her head, glancing over her hands, her wife gives her a thumbs up. “What do you think?”

Two symmetrical smiley faces are painted on each thumb. Yaz laughs, shaking her head. “It’s very _ you _, babe.”

“Thanks.” Josie beams, captivated by the staying power of the substance until from her pocket, her phone rings. A second later, she kicks the chair from under her and jogs for the stairs. “Ah, _ shit. _ I forgot about my meeting!”

“Josie, you _ literally _ had one thing to remember,” Yaz chides after her, sending Robin a roll of her eyes. 

“I know! Don’t go _ on about _ it!” she hears from the top of the stairs just before their office door clicks shut. 

“Can you believe her?” Yaz scoffs as she turns to her son, lifting one of his hands to check over the patterns. “That woman has the memory of a goldfish.”

“Shit,” Robin echoes his mother’s curse from seconds ago, breaking out into a cheeky grin. 

* * *

“I’ve got _ plenty _ done. It was just a blip, but I’m fine now,” Josie insists, elbows on the desk and rubber banded-ball tossed between her hands. “Promise. I’ve been working my butt off for a week solid now.”

“Right, good. Just make sure it was _ only _ a blip, please?” her agent pleads, accent thick. Acrylic nails tap at her keyboard at a million miles an hour, leaving Josie to wince at her camera. 

“Yes, ma’am.” Josie bounces the ball against the wall just above the screen, narrowly dodging the camera each time. The sound disguises the slight creak of the door when it opens, allowing Yaz an easy journey towards her desk out of sight of the camera _ and _ her oblivious wife. 

“Anyway, I called to let you know you’ve had an influx of interest on your website. It seems that having everyone homebound means they’re living off online shopping, dear,” she crows, clicking through emails and regarding her under sharp brows. 

“Really?” Josie quips, setting the ball aside and leaning closer to the screen. “That’s bri—” she’s caught mid-sentence when she catches sight of mischievous brown eyes beneath her desk. 

Fighting her instinct to question her when Yaz fixes her with a warning glare, Josie swallows as Yaz turns her head to press a kiss to her ankle. 

“That’s what?” 

“Brilliant. That’s —” Yaz shifts, reaching up for the fly of Josie’s jeans and making her falter once more. “Brilliant, Missy.” 

“Quite right,” her agent affirms, “So I’d suggest you keep an eye on the website if you can.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Josie agrees distractedly, raising her hips when Yaz tugs at the waistband of her jeans. Luckily she’s close enough to the desk that her lower half is out of sight, but when Yaz leans in to lap her tongue in a slow line from the inside of her knee to her thigh, she jerks forward with a gasp. 

“Everything alright, Josie?”

“Perfect!” Josie squeaks as teeth graze her thigh, sinking into flesh which blushes and marks and shoots electric pulses to the space between her legs. “Just — just caught a nerve.”

“Ah,” Missy nods, taking a sip of whatever green concoction sits half-drunken at her side. “That comes with age. Are you able to log onto the website now for me? You’ll notice I’ve changed some things around.”

“It’s important to keep things fresh, you see,” she adds when Josie quietens, unknowingly holding her breath. 

Directing a pleading look towards the woman settled quite happily between her legs, Josie only receives a playful smirk in return. “What are you _ doing _?” she mouths when she knows Missy isn’t looking, toes curling in the carpet as Yaz descends on her thigh once more. 

“Do you want me to stop?” Yaz breathes in reply, tongue flitting past full lips to cool the mark she’s left behind. 

Josie pauses for only a moment before reaching out to curl her fingers through Yaz’s hair and prompt her along. “No.”

Her free hand has an iron-grip on the arm of her office chair when she returns to the conversation as best as she can. 

In slow swathes, Yaz works her way up her left thigh until she reaches the crease of her boxers, and just as Josie bites back a whine, she drops back to repeat the attentions to her right. 

Stifling a whimper into the back of her palm, she clicks hastily through to her website and begins to type in her password. “I’m signing in, now, Missy.”

“Great. Once you’ve logged in you’ll see the layout has changed around,” her Scottish tones voice back. 

With a hum of acknowledgement, Josie gets halfway through typing out her password before a hot mouth engulfs the dampened material between her thighs, prizing them apart in the same breath. 

Clenching her fist on reflex, she jumps and _ squeaks _ and misspells her password entirely. 

“Another twinge, dear?” Missy comments, only half concentrating on her client’s strange actions. 

Stifling a laugh against her underwear, Yaz reaches up to peel the offending garment down soft thighs and toned calves and cast them aside. 

“Um — yeah. Mmhm,” Josie mumbles, wracking her slow brain for the series of letters before she starts on her second attempt.

Missy treats her to a smirk, nudging thick-rimmed spectacles up the bridge of her nose. “At least it shows you’re putting the work in.”

“Oh, believe me, _ someone _is,” Josie whispers under her breath, coaxing a smug look from her wife as she gets back to work. She laps at her clit, silently and efficiently working her up the way she knows can bring her off fast. 

“Art can be a slow and painful process, but it’s very rewarding.”

Josie curses quietly when she risks another glance down and finds her wife already looking up, tongue swirling continuously over her clit. Missy’s words repeat in her mind, then, and she returns her gaze to the screen with burning cheek. Does she know she’s— 

Oblivious, Missy continues to type away at whatever she’s working on, and Josie can breathe a staggered sigh of relief. 

Typing her password out correctly on her third attempt, Josie logs into her site and takes in the new look even though she’s only half-focused. “You’ve redecorated.”

“Great observation, as always,” Missy snarks, folding her arms. “What do you think?”

_ It’s awful. There’ too much pink. _“I love it,” Josie quips to save a lengthy discussion she doesn’t have the ability to follow at this point. She can always email her later when there’s not a beautiful woman between her legs working her up to a swift orgasm. 

“Great. I’ll just finish up with these commission slips and email them your way so you can get started on them?” 

Yaz’s hands find purchase on her thighs and part her further, tongue delving between slick folds until Josie is forced to turn her microphone volume down. When her fingers find her clit, she trembles, jerking into her touch. “Yes! _ Right there.” _

She freezes, clearing her throat. “Right there, in my — in my email — inbox.”

“Right,” Missy replies, dragging the word out in suspicion. “Well, unless you have anything you want to ask, then I guess we can leave it there for now.”

“Brilliantthanksbye!” Josie chimes a second before clicking the little red circle and slumping back in her seat, hips shifting fluidly to chase her mouth. “_ God.” _

“Close enough,” Yaz purrs, picking up her efforts now there’s no need to keep quiet or hidden. She slips a hand underneath her top and hums when she finds her braless, instantly brushing her thumb over a pebbled bud. 

“Yaz, Yaz_ , Yaz,” _she chants under her breath, fisting a hand in her hair to guide her when her rolling hips turn clumsy.

“What do you need, Josie?” Yaz purrs against her, closing her mouth around her clit again and grazing her teeth over sensitive flesh enough to make her quiver like putty beneath her. 

“Inside,” Josie pants, tipping her head back and hooking a soft thigh over Yaz’s shoulder. The other, Yaz guides over the arm of her chair so she can spread her open. “I need you inside.” 

Yaz forgoes drawing it out when she catches sight of her wife’s head thrown back and her chest heaving. Pinching a nipple between her fingers while another two sink past her entrance like a knife through butter, she ups her efforts tenfold. 

It’s only a matter of minutes before Josie is writhing and quivering against her, fingers woven through dark curls and securing her in place against the surging fire between her legs. 

“Close,” she whimpers out, toes curling and brows curving upwards as she hurtles towards the edge. 

“Come on, baby,” Yaz mouths against her clit, sucking between swirls of her tongue. She pumps her fingers shallowly inside her, curling them up towards her mouth as if to coax her orgasm forth. “Come for me. I know you can.”

Her muscles pulse and contract and tighten around her fingers at the same instant as Josie cries out, squirming and rolling her hips to drag the sensation out for as long as possible. 

“I’ve got you,” Yaz murmurs as she pulls back, wiping her hand lazily against Josie’s thigh and kneeling up to draw her into a lazy kiss. 

She can taste herself on her lips, and she shivers as the last pulses of electricity disperse from her core. Humming, she breaks the kiss to rest their foreheads together and pant softly against her wife’s cheek. “You’re the best.”

“And you sound delirious,” Yaz laughs, brushing a kiss against her cheek. 

Another few minutes pass in comfortable quiet before Josie turns her head, lips parting in a silent gasp_ . _ “Uh, Yaz?”

“Yeah?” Yaz draws back, her hands on Josie’s bare thighs when she follows her gaze to the puppy perched, half-asleep on the plush dog bed in the corner. “Oh.”

“Was he there the whole time?” 

Josie cringes, burying her face against Yaz’s shoulder with an embarrassed groan. “I think so, yeah.” 

“Take a shower, I’ll get food ready,” Yaz instructs gently, pressing a lingering kiss to her lips then straightening up. “You smell.”

“Charming. Thanks, babe,” Josie drawls with a roll of her eyes, granting herself another few minutes of recovery before dragging herself into the bathroom on legs like jelly.

Yaz is halfway out the door when Josie offers up a squeak, clutching at the hat still settled over her blonde locks. "Wait! I need to show you something."

"What are you on ab—" Yaz starts, brows pinching. She closes the door again and turns cluelessly to her still half-naked wife. "Oh."

Bucket hat bunched in her hand, Josie peers out from under a freshly cut fringe, cheeks warming. "Please don't laugh."

"Why would I— Josie, you look adorable," Yaz croons as she pads over, lifting a hand to brush through the feathered locks. "When did you do this?"

"Wren did it, when you went for a walk," Josie supplies sheepishly, lips curling upwards in a bashful smile. "What do you think? Does it look straight enough?"

"You let _Wren _— wait, forget it. It really suits you, babe." Yaz tilts her head, considering it from another angle. "Makes you look ten times younger."

"Oi," Josie huffs, nudging at her hip. it doesn't have any effect, though, and Yaz stands her ground because she's annoyingly strong like that. "You'd still sneak into a meeting and give me a quickie under the desk now, though, right?"

"Josie Smith-Khan, I will always give you a quickie under your desk during a meeting," Yaz scoffs, breaking into laughter. 

Josie's expression turns serious, head tilting to the side like Rusty does when he can't quite get to grips with a command. "Even if I had two heads and tentacles for legs?" 

"I wouldn't go that far." Yaz grimaces, turning back for the door once she's ruffled her wife's new hairstyle. 

"_Yaz_!"

* * *

They watch the sunset over supper in the garden and Josie drags an easel out from her studio to capture it before it passes. She allows Wren to finish off the last details and signs both of their names in the bottom corner before letting it dry in the warm evening air. 

The canvas is tacked to the wall above the fireplace when they start their nightly film, and Yaz’s gaze refuses to lift from scrawls of deep red and orange and blazing yellow behind the silhouettes of apple trees. 

By the time she can peel her eyes away, the film is halfway through its duration time and there’s a significant lack of pressure against her side. 

Settled back against the length of the couch, Josie dozes into the golden, ruffled fur at the back of Rusty’s neck, one arm swept around his form. Her dishevelled fringe falls into closed eyes. 

Wet nose pressed against her limp hand, their lovable puppy naps against her chest. 

Wren doesn’t falter in reaching for her mother’s phone and handing it to Yaz, and wordlessly, she snaps a picture of the scene. 

… Seconds before her daughter fetches a nearby pen and doodles a curled moustache above Josie’s lips. 

“I swear you two are the same person sometimes,” Yaz sighs, rolling her eyes. She can’t help laugh, though, when Josie shifts in her sleep and smudges the black ink towards her cheek. “And that better not be a permanent pen, Wren.” 

Glancing between the marker and her mother’s face, Wren baulks. “You know I love you, don’t you, mum?”


	16. babysitting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hope everyone's staying safe x

“Yaz?”

Yaz eyes the bathroom door curiously, waiting for the running shower to warm up in the meantime. “Yeah?” 

“Are you taking a shower?” Josie’s slightly sheepish voice comes in from their adjoining bedroom, followed by the shuffling of anxious feet. “Can I come in?”

“‘Course.” Yaz leans against the sink beside the door, glancing up when it inches open to reveal —

“Josie, what the —” 

“I tried to make you a smoothie for breakfast, ‘cause I know how much you love them, and —” Josie shuts the door after her, locking it for extra precaution. When she turns to face her wife, the greenish tinge to her hair and her cream pyjama top makes Yaz sigh in exasperation. “I think I forgot the lid.” 

Yaz reaches out to brush her fingers over the crusted moisture coating her hair and grimace at her. “You  _ think _ you forgot the lid?”

“Okay — I definitely forgot it.” 

“You’re really something else, you know that, right?” 

Josie’s eyes crease in the corners and she grins, peeling her dampened, sticky t-shirt over her head. She’s not wearing a bra underneath and Yaz admires unashamedly before copying her movements. “Thanks, babe.”

She directs the running water over her wife’s dirtied blonde hair once they’re both in the shower, carding her fingers through the sticky residue with a familiar tut. “Did you at least clean up the rest of the mess you made?”

Hazel eyes blink open from under the spray and Josie catches her bottom lip between her teeth in a telling motion to hide her guilt. 

_ “Josie _ .” 

“Have I told you how much I love you yet today?” The blonde reaches out, slinging her arms lazily around Yaz’s hips and drawing her closer until they’re flush against each other, bare chest to bare chest. “I don’t think I have, have I?” 

While Yaz simply huffs in exasperation, Josie presses her lips to her wife’s throat, butterfly kisses leading up to her ear. “I love you so much, Yaz. Tons. A gazillion times over.”

“Mm-hm,” Yaz hums in bemusement, leaning back against the shower wall and raising her brows when Josie’s eyes gleam with something darker. “Prove it and maybe I’ll let you off.” 

— 

“Mam! The shower door’s broken again.”

“Oh, sorry, Wren. It’s so weird that it keeps happening, isn’t it?” 

“Mum? Are you choking?” 

—

“What time did they say they were coming?” 

“In about an hour, babe,” Yaz informs, collecting up a trail of Rusty’s toys and dropping them into his basket. When she turns, her wife is bouncing on her toes in barely concealed excitement and she has to keep herself from laughing. “Taking Rusty’s guarding job for the day?” 

“It’s a  _ baby _ , Yaz,” Josie squeals, raising her arms in a self-given hug. “Aren’t you excited? ‘Cause I’m really excited.” 

“Sonya’s going to freak if she sees you waiting at the door like that,” Yaz notes, but there’s no seriousness to the statement. “Could you let Rusty out for me while I wake Wren up?” 

“But —”

“An hour, babe.”

“Alright. Can you tell her to give me back my straighteners while you’re at it?” 

“Doubt you’d need those, babe, given that you’re…” 

When Josie offers up a clueless expression, Yaz simply shakes her head and stifles a scoff. “Never mind. Rusty’s about to piss on the rug — I think you better open the door.”

“Shit,” she hears behind her as she makes her way up the stairs and pauses at the door to the first bedroom on the left. 

The blue surface is decorated in plush sunflowers and clouds depicted by her wife’s talented hands and she knocks three times while Robin passes along behind her and down the stairs with a polite smile. “Morning, sweetheart,” she croons, ruffling their mop of dark hair on the way. 

“Morning, mum,” they murmur from the staircase. 

  
  


From the other side of the door, however, she gets no response. “Wren, are you awake? Auntie Sonya and Uncle Ryan are going to be here soon with your cousin.” 

“Babies smell. Do I have to come down?” Yaz can hear the grimace on her teenage daughter’s face despite the decorated wood dividing them.

Yaz pops a hip and folds her arms, leaning against the wall beside the door when Wren shows no signs of opening it. “We’re having Afia for the day, so you’re going to have to at some point.” 

“ _ Fine _ ,” Wren drawls from the other side, followed by the sound of shuffling sheets and a drawer opening. “I’ll be there in a bit.” 

Suitably assured, Yaz pads back down to the sight of Josie hauling fresh laundry from Rusty’s mouth in a game of tug of war. Leaning against the door, her eight-year-old giggles heartily and suddenly all is right with the world.

“She’s silly,” they observe with a grin, pale pink button-up pyjamas hugging their form. 

Despite their age, Yaz still sees them as her baby, so it’s easy for her to scoop their petite form up onto her hip and make a start on breakfast. “That she is, babe.” 

— 

Yaz is sprawled out on the couch picking twigs and dry leaves from Rusty’s fur when the doorbell rings, and after quietening the ageing dog’s barking, she heads over to greet their visitors. 

“Oh,  _ hello _ , baby girl,” she croons as soon as the door opens to reveal her three-month-old niece in her sister’s hold, aware of the footsteps jogging over from behind her when she scoops the wriggling baby into her arms. “Look at you. You’re still so tiny.”

“Hiya,” Josie chimes from her side, swapping grins with Ryan like old friends. Yaz can sense her wife’s eyes on her, then, and she doesn’t have to look to tell the way her features soften. “Thanks for letting us have her for the day, guys. Promise we’ll take good care of her.” 

“We owe you one,” Sonya insists, passing over the baby carrier and a bag of essentials. “Thank  _ you _ for offering to take her.” 

Yaz gently sways the dozy infant in her arms and can’t help but grin when she gurgles. “You know Josie would never turn down babysitting. Take care of yourselves, alright?”

“Good luck with the job interview, Sonya,” Josie adds, lifting a palm to Yaz’s back once she’s set the bag of baby food and nappies aside. “And have a nice day of freedom.”

“Oh, we will, mate,” Ryan drawls with a faux-innocent smirk, shoving his hands into his pockets when they turn to leave. 

Yaz grimaces over the top of Afia’s head where soft, dark curls grow. “Ew. Not that nice.”

“Back later, Afia.” Sonya reaches out to squeeze a polka-dot socked foot and brush a kiss to her forehead before peeling back. “Laters, sis.”

“Bye, Son.”

As soon as the door shuts behind them, Josie regards Yaz and the bundle of life in her arms with barely concealed broodiness. Her softened eyes glisten with a film of adoration and she gnaws at her bottom lip when Afia raises a hand to toy at her still drying curls. “Yaz —” 

Already predicting the path of her sentence, Yaz shakes her head and drops a kiss to Afia’s scrunched nose. “Nope. Three’s enough for me, babe.” 

She doesn’t have to glance up from the wrinkled skin between her niece’s brows to know her wife is sending her a confused frown. “Three?”

“Pretty sure we’ve figured out I’m the only adult in this family, Josie.”

Rolling her eyes but choosing not to argue, Josie makes a grabbing motion with her hands and bounces on the balls of her feet once more. “Can I —?”

“Alright, but I think she’s waking up, so be prepared for the wriggles,” Yaz warns, leaning into her to hand the smaller than average infant over. She makes sure her wife has her lolling head cradled before peeling back. “I’ll warm up some milk for her.”

“Thanks, Yaz.” Josie’s eyes are only for Afia from then on, carrying her bundled form towards the couch and ghosting a fingertip across her chin. She cradles her head in the crook of her elbow. “Hello, you. D’you remember me? I’m Josie, your auntie, and you are  _ gorgeous. _ Look at you!”

“She’s tiny,” Robin coos as they climb up beside her. The sight of the three of them is enough to reawaken something in Yaz’s chest while she waits for the microwave to  _ ping _ beside her. 

An answering mumble makes Wren smile despite her best efforts from the chair opposite, where she listens to music through her earphones. “Surprised she doesn’t smell.”

“Not every baby smells like poop, Wren,” Yaz chides. 

“Robin did when they were little. They still do.”

“ _ Mum! _ Did you hear that?” 

“Wren, leave them alone.”

Wren’s snickering earns a sniffle from her sibling and Yaz turns with a firmer frown to her testing teenager. “ _ Wren _ .”

The youngster simply rolls her eyes and turns back to the book resting in her lap, missing the terse look Yaz trades with Josie.

The chime of the microwave shatters her trail of thought and she returns to the sofa with a warmed bottle. 

“Thanks, Yaz,” Josie breathes, patting the space beside her while Robin cuddles closer on her other side. She lifts the bottle to Afia’s lips and Yaz basks in the sight of her wife’s brightening expression when the infant happily complies. “That’s it, sweetheart.”

“You’re good with her,” Yaz notes, reaching out to toy with a socked foot until Afia reaches out to grasp at her finger. “Hiya, babe.”

“When will she be able to talk?” Robin pipes up from Josie’s side, peering over their cousin’s head of short curls in eager curiosity. “Imagine not knowing what you sound like yet.” 

“You started at about ten months, so there’s still a while to go yet, love.” Josie eases the bottle away when Afia slows her quiet sips, instead offering it to their youngest. “Wanna try? Just be gentle.” 

“Thanks, mam.” They sit up immediately, shifting onto their knees to present the bottle to their cousin with a grin. They’re gentle as ever; Josie shouldn’t have doubted that. Robin has always had the most cautious touch. “Here you go, Afia.”

And if her wife wasn’t already broody, she is now. Yaz can tell by the way Josie tilts her head and barely quells a wistful sigh, softened green flitting between Robin and Yaz in open yearning. 

But when Afia stinks out the room ten minutes later, Yaz is quick to press a kiss to Josie’s cheek and murmur a teasing, “Are you sure you still want another?” to which her wife scrunches her nose and heads for the bathroom to change her. 

In the meantime, Yaz slides open the doors to the garden and allows Rusty entrance while the situation has calmed. “No jumping up on Afia, Rusty. She’s too small for you.” 

“I’ll distract him,” Wren quips, jogging past the door to toss a tennis ball for the ageing canine. 

“I do  _ not _ miss that,” Josie announces upon return, a half-awake baby reaching out towards Yaz’s form. Her face falls, bottom lip jutting out in a pout. “Really? After all that she wants  _ you _ instead?” 

“Can’t help it, babe,” Yaz snickers, opening her arms for the wriggling infant and smirking when Josie huffs. “That’s right, sweetheart. Come to your favourite auntie.”

“ _ Oof,”  _ Robin gasps from between them. “Did you hear that, mam? Mum said Afia’s her favourite — no! Let go!  _ Mam _ !”

“That’s what you get.” Josie grins, holding tight to her eight-year old’s waist while she dangles them over her shoulder. “Where d’you want me to put you down? Trampoline or paddling pool, babe?” 

Robin giggles between squeals, wriggling their legs against Josie’s hold while Yaz simply watches on from the steps to the conservatory, trading exasperated looks to an oblivious Afia. “Let  _ go _ !”

“Paddling pool it is, then.”

“ _ Mum! _ Stop her!”

“Sorry, Robin? Afia, did you hear them say please? ‘Cause I didn’t.”

“In you go!”

— 

“Mam, look at this.”

“Who’s that? Are they a friend?”

“No, mam. That’s not — they’re a famous band. If I get enough money from the paper round can I got to their next concert?” 

“Oh! So is that the Zac Effron bloke?” 

“Zac — mum, he’s an actor.”

“An actor  _ and _ a singer in a band? Nah, he’s gotta be rubbish at something.”

“Josie, babe, can you grab me a fresh bottle?” 

“‘Course! Yaz, Wren was just talking to me about Zac Effron. Apparently he’s in a band, too.”

“Oh my  _ God. _ Afia, you are  _ so _ lucky you can leave here this evening.” 

—-

While Wren and Josie busy themselves in the baking of baby-friendly biscuits, Yaz foregoes watching over them and their history of destruction to settle Afia down for a nap in their bedroom. 

Where the baby goes, Robin goes, so Yaz shuffles up to allow them space to climb on beside her when shy footsteps pad past the door. “Come on up, sweetheart. I was just going to let her rest for a bit.”

From her place atop Yaz’s chest, Afia reaches out to toy with the pendant gracing Yaz’s neck; a pressed daisy encased in transparent plastic handmade by Josie for her last birthday. Yaz gently plucks it from her tiny hand when she draws it to her mouth. 

“Do babies just sleep all day?” Robin asks quietly, a hand at Afia’s back, stroking gently over her pale yellow onesie. 

Yaz drapes her free arm behind Robin’s head to let them rest against her shoulder. “There’s a lot of development going on behind the scenes, babe. They need to sleep so everything inside their brains can process and grow. It’s like your first day of school — remember coming home really tired and with a headache because you’d had to take in so much in just one day?” 

Robin nods, eyes alight. 

“Imagine that, but a gazillion times more learning. It’s all new to her, Robin; every touch, every colour, every taste. I’m surprised she’s stayed awake all day.” 

“That’s a lot,” Robin agrees in wander, breaking into a sweet smile when Afia sighs and licks her lips, large doe eyes closing. “She’s so tiny.” 

“You were smaller, honey.” 

“I was?” 

“Yeah,” Yaz brushes a kiss against her youngest’s hairline and yawns. “Everyone loved you when I brought you in to meet my pupils, back when I was a teacher. They thought you were beautiful.”

The term rouses a pinkness to Robin’s cheeks and they tuck closer, burying their face against her neck. “They thought I were pretty?”

“‘Course they did. And you are, babe.” Yaz smiles against the top of their head, breathing in the clean scent lining their dark waves. She’d plaited their hair into two french braids this morning, and Robin has a knack for keeping their hair perfectly tamed in spite of any situation. “I love your hair like this. You should keep it this length.”

  
  


Robin’s blushing warm cheeks against her shoulder are enough of a sign of gratefulness without the grin they gift her. “Thanks, mum. I love you.”

Her chest swells and she brushes her thumb against their small shoulder. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

—

She doesn’t remember falling asleep, but when silent footsteps encircle the bed and carefully ease the infant from her chest, Yaz relaxes at the tell-tale earl grey scent which follows. 

After drawing a blanket up over their dozing forms, Josie stifles a giggle and starts chattering in whispers to her niece while she backs out of the room. “Look at them; two peas in one pod. Or was it sweetcorn...” 

— 

Leaving a napping Robin upstairs, Yaz seeks out the rest of her family an unknown length of time later. On the purple couch, she finds — to her surprise — Wren settled with Afia cradled in her lap, of whom she dotes over. 

“She didn’t want to make Robin jealous so she was waiting until they got distracted,” Josie informs her when she steps into the kitchen, swinging an arm lazily around her waist. “Maybe we should get them a doll, or something — something they can take care of.” 

“I think you’re right,” Yaz agrees, stretching her arms above her head before she lets them encircle Josie’s shoulders. “They’re still sleeping. I’ll wake them in a bit. How did the biscuits go?” 

“Uh —” 

“Mam forgot the eggs, again,” Wren interrupts, forcing Josie to turn sheepish in Yaz’s arms. “They’re rock solid.”

“Listen, it’s an  _ easy _ mistake —” 

Yaz snickers, ruffling her wife’s hair. “It must be, because it happens  _ every time _ . Now, can I trust you to help me make a new batch?”

“Thirteen thousand percent. Just give me an order and I’ll do it.”

Yaz leans in while Wren has returned her attention to Afia, nuzzling at her ear until Josie shivers. “Don’t I know it, babe.”

—

“She doesn’t like them.”

“Ah.”

“After all that, she doesn’t like the biscuits anyway.”

“S’alright. I’m sure Rusty will enjoy them.”

“ _ Josie _ — do not feed those to —”

“Um — so, Rusty doesn’t like them either.” 

“ _ What? _ Rusty likes everything. He ate dad’s pakora. Let me try one.” 

“Here.”

“Oh my  _ god _ , how much cinnamon did you put in these?”

“However much you asked for, babe. Half a tin.”

“ _ Half a tin?  _ Josie, I said half a _ spoonful _ .”

“I think they’re quite yummy.” 

“You are  _ so _ lucky you’re cute.”

“Mum, she could’ve  _ killed us _ and you’re complimenting her?” 

— 

“Does she have to go?” Robin sighs in the doorway, holding Rusty back while Sonya accepts her daughter back into her arms. 

“Sorry, mate.” Ryan steps forward to give Rusty a scratch behind his ears before he crouches for a hug. “You can come and visit any time, you know that. Thanks for looking after her, though.”

Wren steals a hug from her uncle next, stealing his baseball cap in the process and hiding it behind her back. “We made her some biscuits but mam’s a disaster.”

“Too much cinnamon,” Yaz answers when her sister throws her a look. “Even Rusty hated them.” 

“I really don’t think they were that bad,” Josie huffs in a small voice but softens when Yaz wraps an arm around her waist. “How’d the job interview go, Sonya?”

“Got it,” Sonya answers with a flush, adjusting her grip on her sleepy daughter. “You’re looking at the new social media exec.” 

“Congratulations, Sonya!” come a multitude of praises before Yaz offers up half a hug, mindful of Afia. “We’ll all have to do something to celebrate.”

Josie bounces on her toes at the suggestion, sending Rusty barking. “Family barbecue?” 

“So long as Yaz is in charge, sure,” Ryan jibes. Josie kicks one of Wren’s footballs at his shins and smiles in faux innocence. 

Yaz rolls her eyes in tandem with Sonya. 

They close the door behind themselves a short time later only for a knock to land against the window and Wren to snicker to herself. 

At the other side of the door, Ryan shakes his head, hands on his hips. “Am I going to have to get my hat back the easy way, or the  _ hard  _ way, Wren?” 

“Depends,” Wren proposes, basketball cap secured atop blonde locks. “Are you ready to run?”


	17. damaged pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wren's POV !!!! just a short one but here goes x
> 
> hope everyone's doing okay <3
> 
> TW: bullying/discussions of sexuality/implied homophobia

“Ma?”

“Yes, babe?” her mother supplies, perched cross-legged on the living room floor while she organises their laundry into neat piles. As always, Wren’s pile is the tallest; football kit, basketball kit  _ and _ her new school uniform; burgundy blazer, white shirt and black slacks.

The first year of her GCSEs, however, encourages an extra degree of anxiety to crowd her thoughts. 

She’s not usually a worrier; when it comes down to school work, she’s always on the top of her game and she’s a naturally smart girl. In that case, it isn’t the looming pressure of the first exams she’s ever taken and the sheer amount of coursework on her plate, nor the next step into the rest of her life that weigh down on her usually loosened shoulders. 

Wren straightens her back and sits forward in her weathered hoodie and leggings, thumbs working against the fidget toy in her hands. When that doesn’t work, she’s grateful for Rusty’s sudden appearance. He climbs up on old, tired legs and settles on the couch at her side.

Three affectionate laps of Rusty’s tongue and an approving huff later, she takes a steadying inhale. “I need to ask you something.”

This is what gives her blonde mother pause. Halting her progress, she looks up, seeking out that which twitches at the corner of Wren’s mouth and presses on her chest. “Yeah? What’s up, Wren?”

Now her request is in the spotlight; now her worries are close to their diminishment, Wren falters. Averting her gaze to the golden hair gliding between her palms, she licks her chapped lips and readies the words on her tongue. 

“How old were you when you realised you liked —” 

At the other side of the room, the front door clicks open and their moment is crushed and tossed aside like the lacklustre pupils at the back of her classes; she might not be a teacher’s pet but she at least treats them with respect. 

“Hiya, guys!” Josie croons in greeting but her focus doesn’t stray from Wren’s fidgeting form. When Robin jogs over to meet her in a quick hug, the period in time is shelved for a more convenient time. 

Wren draws herself up from the couch and heads to the kitchen with Rusty in tow. She has the kettle flicked on for her mothers before they even step into the room, more than used to their routine. 

“How was your swimming lesson, sweetheart?” she hears the oldest of her mothers inquire while she fetches two mugs from the cupboard to her right. 

While Robin gives a run-down of their experience, Wren clicks open the back door to the garden to let Rusty do his business. 

“Off you go, mate,” she encourages when he sticks to her side — she’s always had a feeling he’s susceptible to her anxieties, as well as her mother’s. “Come on — you’re going to pee on my bed again otherwise, aren’t you? Go and do your thing, Rusty. I’ll be right here the whole time. I promise.” 

With a resigned huff, the greying dog pads out into the grass and gives into his needs. 

To the echo of laughter and chatter from inside, Wren perches down in the doorway and scoops a tennis ball into her palm. 

Between each toss of the threadbare ball, Wren recounts every experience which has led up to her current predicament. When she turns to find her mother’s arm curled around the other’s waist and the tender but nausea-inducing brush of lips against a forehead in the safety of the kitchen, it only churns at her stomach muscles more. 

Robin finds her first, their hair still damp and wringing with chlorine as they step through the door beside her and pad into the grass in a pair of tan sandals. “Hi.”

“Hi, Robin. How was your —” 

“Are you sad?” 

Wren pinches her brows and shakes her head, wincing in the light of a descending sun. “Nah. I’m fine. Are  _ you  _ okay?”

“Is it school?” Robin persists, dropping to the grass to take in the progression of the flowers they’d potted only days prior. They pluck a daisy from a spot by their foot and peer around for another. Daisy chains are their first and foremost show of support. “Is it really hard already? Being fifteen doesn’t sound fun.”

“Not really.” Wren opens her arms when Rusty comes sidling over, huffing out a breath when he flops against her with no warning. “And hey, being almost nine isn’t fun either. You’re going to big school in the next few years.” 

“I don’t want to go to big school,” Robin replies honestly, joining two daisies together through a slit in their stem. “What if I can’t make friends there?”

“They’d be stupid not to like you, Robin. You make the best daisy chains  _ and _ you’re chatty. You’re going to make loads of friends.” Wren meets their gaze in silent promise, giving their forearm a pat. “Anyway, I’ll still be there when you join, so you can come and find me if anyone’s causing you trouble, okay?”

“Okay.” 

“Promise?”

“Promise,” Robin confirms. Forming the chain into a bracelet before handing it over. “If you’re not sad, does that mean I can borrow your nail varnish?”

Wren rolls her eyes. “ _ Fine _ . But make sure you give it back.”

“Thanks, Wren, you’re the best.”

* * *

“Wren?” 

“Yeah, mum?”

“Apparently there was something you wanted to ask your mam earlier?”

“Oh — yeah. Don’t worry. I forgot what it was,” Wren shrugs, waving a hand in dismissal. She chases a pea around her plate and strokes the back of Rusty’s neck with her free hand, stubbornness prevailing. 

“Are you sure?”

“Sure. I’ll let you know if it comes back to me.” 

* * *

A horrendous week and a split lip later, Wren edges through the door to her home as quietly as possible, hoping more than anything not to be noticed on her way to her room. 

Hood up to cover the edge of her jaw and the swollen flesh of her lip, she makes it one step up the staircase before a voice stops her in her tracks. 

“Wren? Is that you? How was football?”

Wren turns with dread heavy in her gut. “Yeah, it was good. I’m just going to head upstairs to shower —” 

“Could you come in here and try one of these first, babe? Don’t know if I got the recipe right.”

With a grimace, Wren drops her kit bag to the ground at her feet and pads through the house in stripey, muddied socks. She pulls her hood closer in an effort to remain hidden even as she approaches the kitchen. 

“It’s your mum and I’s anniversary today, so I thought I’d surprise her with some cupcakes. The icing was meant to be pink but I accidentally picked up neon yellow colouring. You don’t think she’ll mind, do you? She’ll be home any minute,” her mother reels off her tongue, hair dishevelled and distinctly… floury. 

Wren would laugh if it didn’t obscure her disguise. The cupcakes are neat and golden beneath the layer of lively icing, the words  _ happy anniversary _ mocking them from their place. Of  _ course, _ this would occur on a special occasion. 

“They’re great, mam. Very…  _ loud _ . Uh — happy anniversary, by the way. Totally didn’t forget.”

Josie beams in her peripherals. “Thanks, Wren.”

At the same time as Yaz steps in through the door, Josie ruffles the top of Wren’s head and sends her hood back down before the fifteen year old has a chance to stop it. 

Her mother’s gaze bores into her scuffed cheekbone and torn lip in silent shock until Yaz enters. 

“Wren, did someone do that to you?”

“Oh my God,  _ Wren _ .”

Gentle hands find her cheeks and lift her chin until, lip trembling, Wren sends glistening eyes towards the ceiling. The concerned, protective pairs of eyes on her are her downfall. 

A teary sniffle is what sets her off. 

“Rowan,” the blonde pleads, tone serious. “Who did this?”

Yaz’s hand finds the space between her shoulders and she checks over the scabbing wound in unbelievable knowingness. “It was Missy, wasn’t it? Missy did this to you?”

“Mum, it’s  _ fine _ ,” Wren defends automatically, wiping away a stubborn tear and wincing when her hand brushes her cheek. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t worry about it?” Josie snaps, but it’s more through motherly concern than anger. “Sweetheart, this is _assault_. She’s hurt you.”

“I’m going to have to ring up the school,” she continues, carding a hand through her hair and reaching for her phone. Yaz fetches a roll of tissue and runs a scrunched piece of paper under the tap. “There’s no way she’s getting away with this again.”

Wren is quick in her interception, desperately grappling for her mother’s device. “Mam, you can’t! Seriously, you can’t. She’ll tell  _ everyone _ .”

Yaz shakes her head at her wife and reluctantly, Josie sets her phone aside. 

“Tell everyone what, sweetheart?” Yaz probes gently, doing nothing to stop the panic rising to the surface in Wren’s lungs. 

The same lungs which deny her mercy when it comes to answering her mother’s question. 

“Rowan?” 

A suffocating weight drops against her chest and Wren hears nothing but a muted whimper before black dots seek out her vision and a hand closes around her windpipe. 

There’s a fading painting tacked by magnets to the fridge which details a happy family of four in stick-figure form. As she stares, though, the art morphs and a foreign hand scribbles away at her smiling face. 

“Rowan.  _ Rowan _ . You need to breathe with me, babe,” her mum’s voice echoes alongside a sudden shift in her view. Wide brown eyes seek out her own and steady themselves in exchange for a fresh lungful of air. 

Wren’s palms are indented with half-moons when her vision comes back into focus and her ribs don’t feel like they’re closing in any longer. 

She doesn’t remember being guided to the sofa, but there she is perched while her cheeks dry and her long blonde hair is combed back from her eyes. 

“Keep counting, Wren. Remember the pattern?”

Fingers twitching to the count of four, then eight, then four in a series of repetitive exercises, Wren eases back into the room to the worried observation of her parents.

Yaz is the first to shuffle closer, a soothing hand at her back so long as she doesn’t wince away. “Better?”

“Sorry,” Wren croaks, sniffling away the rest of her tears and allowing Yaz to draw her closer. “I’m really sorry.”

“Hey, no. Don’t apologise, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry for shouting, Rowan,” Josie murmurs honestly, pinching the bridge of her nose as she paces before them both. 

With a tentative look Yaz’s way, the youngest of her parents catches Josie’s wrist next time she passes. “Babe, stop doing that.”

“Someone’s  _ hurt _ her, Yaz —”

“And you’re not going to do anything to help by burning holes in the carpet, Josie.”

“I kissed Martha,” Wren interrupts tearily. “Missy saw it and thought I was forcing myself on her. I wasn’t. I really,  _ really _ wasn’t. We both wanted to. She just — she wanted something to use against me.” She sags, her petite size allowing her to burrow against Yaz’s shoulder with ease. Miserably, she sighs, “Guess she found it.”

She can sense her mothers exchanging glances without even having to look up from the flowery material of Yaz’s blouse. Head throbbing in the wake of her panic, Wren sniffs. “I think I’m bi. I don’t — I don’t know, yet. But I think I like boys and girls.”

“Boys? Really?,” Josie supplies with the hint of a relieved smile. Perhaps she can tell that it relieves a significant weight from her shoulders. “But they  _ smell _ , honey. Are you  _ sure _ ?”

“Shut up,” Yaz barks in warning, not before Josie trades a snort with her daughter. “Don’t listen to her, Wren. Thank you for telling us. That’s really brave.”

Cheeks and chest warming, Wren breathes a slow sigh of relief. But there’s still one more thing to sort; the thought of which sends a shiver up her spine. 

As if sensing it, Josie crouches before them both and reaches for one of Wren’s hands. “Now could you tell us what happened next, babe? Would that be okay?” 

“Missy kept making comments about Martha and me during the game, but I ignored her,” Wren reveals, head coming to rest against her mother’s shoulder. Smoothly, Yaz glides her fingers through her hair and presses warm lips against the crown of her head. “And then she fouled — she tripped me up and — um — she caught her foot on my face when I hit the ground.”

“She _caught her_ _boot_ —” 

“Rowan, you don’t have to keep defending her. She’s not here, she’s not  _ listening _ . There’s no need to suck up to her. It’s not your fault,” Yaz insists gently. By the way she stiffens, though, it’s clear her anger over the teenager isn’t far from the surface. 

“She kicked me,” Wren corrects quietly. The words act as a release. “And it’s not my fault.”

And with that, it’s as though the world stops turning so painfully fast and the last puzzle piece slots into place. Wren slumps in place and allows two sets of arms to envelope her.

“We’re going to have to talk to the school,” her dark-skinned mother announces sometime later, Robin having since joined their group cuddle and slotted themself in beside Wren. “But we can do that tomorrow, okay?”

Nodding, Wren allows Robin to finish up painting her nails with her own blue nail varnish. The well of guilt still bubbles in her gut and, eyeing the cupcakes they’d brought in from the kitchen, Wren wilts. “I’m sorry for ruining your anniversary.”

“Pfft, doesn’t matter, babe,” Josie dismisses softly, “You’re way more important to us than that. You’re the one who brought us together in the first place, remember?” 

Yaz lifts her brows in teasing disagreement. “I can’t believe you tricked me into this, Wren.” 

“Mam’s not so bad,” Wren argues in defence just as the woman in question attempts to stuff a whole cupcake  _ plus _ its paper case past her lips. “When she’s not doing  _ that _ , anyway.”

Josie grins around a messy mouthful, teeth tinted neon yellow. She meets her eye in competition. “Race you to finish them all?”

Wren’s decision is made without hesitation and speedily, she grabs for a freshly made cupcake. A split lip and damaged pride won’t stop her winning this race. 

“ _ Seriously, _ guys? _ ” _ Yaz groans. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!! feedback is always appreciated if you have the time!!


End file.
